Hearts of Fire
by H.J. Bender
Summary: Johnny forms an uneasy alliance with the ex-Queen of Hell and her son Blackheart, whom Johnny rescues from the Ninth Circle. Together the three must evade Mephisto's henchmen and prevent him from bringing Armageddon to Earth.
1. Lilith

_I look inside myself and see my heart is black…  
Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts  
It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black._  
-Rolling Stones, "Paint It Black"

**Lilith**

There is no love in Hell, not even between father and son.

He had dragged him, kicking and screaming, through all nine Circles and then proceeded to mutilate him without mercy. Ice shattered and splintered from the punishment being dealt in this lowest of realms, and screams of fury mixed with those of untold pain and suffering echoed as far as Purgatory. When at last the endless hours of assault came to a finish, Mephistopheles had rendered his son a bleeding, brutalized tangle of unholy flesh, still begging and weeping for forgiveness as he cowered on the floor of ice.

"You have betrayed me, Atrocor," Mephisto snarled, using his son's Latin name. "You conspired to raze my throne and destroy my rule — and for what? You know nothing of the power required to hold dominion over the Underworld! You were a fool to think you could get away with treason so high as this."

"Then I am no different from you, Father." Blackheart spat his dark blood. "You once thought you could challenge God and defeat Him." He smiled insolently through his fangs. "And now you can't even win a bet with the Ghost Rider-"

Mephisto delivered a powerful kick to his son's face, sending him spinning and reeling across the ice. "Flesh of my flesh," he growled, walking to where Blackheart lay and dragging him up by his hair. "Bone of my bone. Blood of my blood . . . Indeed our ambitions are similar, my son. But unlike you, I was able to rise from my defeat and forge a realm to rival that of Heaven's. One day I will take back what is due to me, but you shall have no part in it. No, Atrocor. I condemn you to remain here in the Ninth Circle-"

Blackheart's eyes went wide. "No!"

"-bound forever by the sins of your treason-"

"No, please! Father!"

"-locked within a heart of ice a thousand times blacker than yours!"

His six wings stretching wide, Mephisto opened a grave in the ice and threw his son within it. Blackheart, stripped of his demonic flesh and writhing in his weakened human form, raised his hands forth in a plaintive cry just as he was sealed within a wall of ice. The Devil lowered his hand and stared at the frozen form of his only progeny, remorseful that such a treacherous worm had been the seed of his loins. Perhaps, he thought, it was time to think about extending his family again.

Mephisto retreated deep into the dark reaches of the icy cavern to brood, leaving his son lying frozen between the bodies of Judas Iscariot and Marcus Brutus.

† † †

_Blue Cactus Tavern  
Caliente, NV_

Every biker who pulled into the lot paused to silently admire the sleek chrome and black chopper parked cockily right up front. They never would have guessed that it belonged to the moping, short-haired loser at the bar who spent more time boring holes into the bottom of his glass with his hollow gaze than actually drinking.

Six months had passed since he'd said goodbye to Roxanne, and he was a little dismayed at how quickly she had disappeared from his thoughts. No matter — she was better off without him, they both knew that. He had a job to do, a vow to uphold, and going back now was no longer an option. Besides, he couldn't rob her of a normal life. He'd put her through enough already, dealing with The Hidden and that conniving bastard Blackheart.

_I hope he's rotting_, thought Johnny Blaze, nodding to the barkeep for another drink. The tender shook his head and filled another tall glass of water, then leaned on the counter and eyed Blaze with a suspicious gaze. "Look, buddy," he grunted. "You gonna order anything _real_ tonight?"

"I'm warming up to it," Johnny muttered, popping another peanut into his mouth. "And I'm not your buddy."

The barkeep skulked off with a grumble but didn't bother Johnny again.

Johnny sat at the bar and munched on beer nuts even though he wasn't hungry. The crack and clatter of the pool tables and the white noise of conversation drifted in and out of his head, mixing with his thoughts like the hazy film of blue smoke that filled the bar. He thought a lot about his future, the road, where he would be two weeks from now. It was a free life, free as can be, but Johnny couldn't help feeling lost and disoriented.

The door to the tavern opened and shut, and some of the din died down. Johnny took no notice. However, he did notice the light "tup tup" of high heels approaching the bar, but he was far too considerate a man to turn around and ogle. As it turned out there was no need, because the high heels and everything that went with it took a seat beside him at the bar. "Two tequila shots," said a sultry, smoky voice, and the barkeep jumped faster than a squirrel dodging traffic.

Johnny turned to see what had arrived: a woman — most definitely a woman — with long black hair and pale eyes, red lips, long lashes, curves that would kill a man if he tried to take them at 60 mph. She wore a strapless black dress that fell to her knees and a black sash tied loosely about her long white neck. She smiled at Blaze and gave him a wink, and Johnny was struck by a certain sense of familiarity.

The barkeep put two shot glasses of tequila on the counter, and the woman pushed one of them toward Johnny. "Go ahead. It's on me."

"Thanks, but I don't accept free drinks from beautiful women. Rufies, you know."

She grinned, and again Johnny was struck by a sense of déjà vu. "Suit yourself." She gracefully tossed back her shot, ordered another as she picked up Johnny's. "You're a hard man to find, Mr Blaze."

Johnny's heart immediately began to pound, his palms to sweat. "You a fan?"

"In a way. I especially admire your later stunts. The ones with the flaming skull."

Johnny took a deep breath and pretended to sigh with disinterest, though in reality he was so nervous that if you slammed a door he would probably combust right on the barstool. "So," he drawled low enough to keep out of earshot, "what kind of a demon are you?"

"A famous one," she answered quickly. "Almost as famous as you, Ghost Rider."

"What's your name?"

She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse and tapped one out. "I have lots of names."

"The one on your driver's license then."

"You've got a sense of humor, Johnny," she chuckled. "You'll need it where you're going."

"Really? Doesn't Hell have enough comedians?"

"No," she sighed, lighting up without a lighter and sending a cloud of smoke into the air. For a moment it seemed to take on the form of a flower, but in a second it had disappeared. "We don't have much to laugh about these days. Especially me."

Johnny downed his water. God knew when he would see the stuff again. "You never told me who you were," he mentioned. "You're not like the rest of the demons I've met."

"That's because I'm not here to take over the world or to reap the souls of all sinners," she muttered, casting a glance at Blaze. "That was my husband's job. Ex-husband, actually. Fucking men. They're all the same, even the demons."

"I'm sorry, what?"

The woman sighed, held out her hand. She had long, pretty nails. "You can call me Lilith. I'm the Queen of Hell. Or I was, at least."

Johnny balked for a second, then took Lilith's hand. It was soft and cool. "Nice to meet you, Lilith. Now perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me what the wife of Satan-"

"Ex-wife."

"-ex-wife of Satan is doing in a bar in the middle of the desert."

"Well," she said brusquely, tossing back another shot. "My dickhead of a husband likes to gamble. You probably know that. He's always liked gambling, especially with souls. Over fifteen years ago he made a deal with a young man that he couldn't refuse, and just recently that deal came back to bite him in the ass. You follow?"

"Yeah, I follow."

"Good, because I'm counting on you, Mr Blaze. You see, my son takes after his father — dreams big, fails bigger, doesn't take a hint. If only I'd had a girl everything would be different, but that just wouldn't be fair. Mephisto wanted a son and so a son he got. We named him Atrocor. You know him as Blackheart."

Johnny nearly lost his balance. Now he understood why she looked so familiar: there were the eyes, the skin, the dark hair, the features he had thought belonged only to the demon Blackheart. And this — _this_ gorgeous creature (_demon, Johnny, she's a demon_, he reminded himself) was the mother of that miserable little bastard-

"So you're here to fight me, right?" Johnny inquired. "I mean, I _did_ kill your son."

Lilith rolled her eyes and grinned. "Get real, Johnny-boy. You killed the thousand souls within him, sucked him dry, left his mortal raiment a shell. Trust me, my son is very much alive . . . though I don't know for how much longer." Her tone darkened and her expression became angry. "Mephisto, that two-timing son of a bitch, has locked Atrocor away in the Ninth Circle of Hell. _After_ beating the shit out of him, I might add. I am banned from ever seeing him again, and Mephisto has disowned him, pronounced him a failure and an exile." She ground her cigarette into an ashtray and rested her face in her hands. And then, in a voice weak and bereft of any evil, the voice of a stricken mother, Lilith whispered, "My baby is trapped in the hall of ice, and I couldn't even scratch him out if I tried."

She raised her head and Johnny saw that her eyeliner was beginning to smear. "I've been searching for you because I need your help, Johnny Blaze. Mephisto is out to have another child. But I'm through with kids, Johnny. Atrocor was a pain in the ass to raise, and I'm not going through that shit again. I told my husband there was no way I was going to bear him another son while my firstborn is imprisoned in the deepest realm of Hell."

"What did he do?"

Lilith scoffed. "He told me that if I wouldn't carry his child then he would find someone who would. I told him I was leaving, he said nothing. He's been on a mission to find his new bride ever since."

Johnny threaded his fingers together and digested the information. "So . . . Why did you find me?"

"Because this concerns you, too, Johnny," Lilith muttered, tapping her nails against her empty shot glass. "I gave birth to Atrocor before I fell. He was born an angel, you see. He was the _first_ born angel, as the son of the unfallen Satan. The Almighty disapproved because angels were meant to serve, not create, so Atrocor and I were cast down. That, along with Mephisto's envy of mankind, is what started the War. You already know the end so I'll spare you, but you must understand, Johnny, my son is a demon and I know he's done you great wrong. But if you do not help me to free him, Mephisto and his new bride will bring into the world an abomination."

"The Antichrist," Johnny murmured. "He's going to create the Antichrist."

"Yeah, the Antichrist," Lilith muttered, lighting up another cigarette. "Right now every demon in Hell is with him. Only his ex-wife and disinherited son stand in his way. And when the new bundle of joy arrives, my son and I will be history." She squinted at Johnny. "Do you know what it feels like to be killed but still have feeling in your body, and that body is being shredded, dismembered and ripped apart over and over for the rest of eternity? That's the fate which awaits me if Mephisto succeeds. And as for mankind . . . Well, you've read Revelations, haven't you?"

"I've read enough."

"Well, that's only book one of volume one in a series ten volumes long with ten books per volume. Believe me, it gets a lot more interesting. Revelations was just a goddamn prologue compared with what's to come."

Johnny ran a hand through his hair and leaned on the counter. "Well," he said, "that was a nice little story, but I don't see how a Ghost Rider could possibly help you. This is Hell we're talking about, not a gang of thieves or drug dealers. The power of Zarathos could never stand up to Mephisto, not in his own realm."

"I'm not asking you to fight _mano a mano_ with Mephisto," Lilith snapped. "I'm asking you to free my son. You possess the power of hellfire, the only thing capable of melting the infernal ice that is holding Atrocor captive. I'm barred from descending any further than the Seventh Circle; while the cat's out tomcatting the mice are at the mercy of his whims."

"So . . . Essentially you're telling me to go to Hell."

"Yes."

"To free your son."

"Yes."

"Who tried to kill me many times and to whom I owe nothing."

Lilith was silent, expressionless.

"Look," Johnny muttered, "I don't have to do shit for you. I know now to hunt down Mephisto and make sure he doesn't knock up anyone with the Antichrist, and that's the only job that concerns me."

"You'll never find him without my help," Lilith growled.

"I don't _need_ your help."

"I'll see you as far as the Seventh Circle — no one will touch you!"

"Forget it, lady. I go through hell enough as it is. I don't need to go through it literally." Johnny stood from his seat.

"What do you want?" Lilith demanded. "Money? Women? Fame?"

"A little respect would be nice."

"Anything you want, it's yours — what do you say?"

"I say goodbye, your majesty. Have a nice reign in Hell." And Johnny walked out, pausing once he had stepped into the cool air. He looked up at the night sky for a few moments and strode then to his bike. He'd just mounted it when Lilith stormed out, the door cracking on its hinges and her face dark with anger.

"What do I have to do to get you to understand how apocalyptic these events could be? If you don't find Mephisto then we're all doomed — you, me, Atrocor-"

"No offense, Lilith, but your son is a prick and I don't care if he stays a popsicle for the rest of eternity."

Lilith pinched her lips shut, and through the dark Johnny could see the tears welling in her eyes. "You fucking men," she choked. "You're all the same. Fucking selfish assholes. I may not be a saint — I'm not even lucky enough to be a _sinner_ — but I know what it means to be a parent, and I love my son, foolish demon that he is. This is not the Queen of Hell standing in front of you, Johnny Blaze — this is a mother begging you to bring her baby back. Please, Johnny . . ." With reluctant humility Lilith lowered herself to her knees in the dust, and took hold of Johnny's pant leg. "Please help me."

Johnny looked away. "What will you and Blackheart do if I decide to help you? Where will you go?"

"We'll leave Hell forever. Never look back."

"And two powerful demons will be loose in the mortal world."

"We will be in your debt — we'll never harm another human soul."

Johnny had to laugh at that. "Blackheart would never agree to that."

"I'll make him agree. He is my son, after all. He has to listen to his mother."

"He never really struck me as a mama's boy."

"Trust me, he is."

Johnny grinned. It would be perfectly righteous to bring back that little shit just so he could laugh at him for the rest of his life. And Blackheart wouldn't be able to do a damned thing about it. Literally.

He kicked his bike to life and yelled over the roar, "You got a ride?"

"No."

Johnny jerked his head toward the back of his bike. "Hop on, mama. We'll get your son back."

A few minutes later a trail of fire burned down the dark desert highway in the wake of a roaring chopper.


	2. Into Hell

**Into Hell**

_Somewhere in the Mojave Desert_

The trail of dust finally settled and Johnny Blaze cut the engine, shielding his eyes as he gazed up at the white-hot sun slowly beginning to rise in the east. It had been a long night riding to California with the Queen of Hell holding tightly onto him, her faint scent of lilies and brimstone taunting his senses all night long. He'd mulled over the deal to which he was now bound, the suicidal endeavor of plunging into the depths of Hell and bringing back the Devil's son, soon to be his new ally in a war against the underworld itself. That was _if _Lilith wasn't lying, which Blaze couldn't completely be sure of. Hellfolk were pretty consistent liars anyway, and the only reason Johnny had allowed himself to be suckered into this was the slight fear that maybe Lilith was right, that she was telling the truth. And if she was, there was going to be a whole lot of apocalyptic shit hitting the fan very, very soon.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Blaze asked, scanning the bleak surroundings. Nothing but dirt and scrubby tangles of desert bushes peppered across the landscape. "There's nothing here."

Lilith gracefully lifted her leg and dismounted the bike. "Exactly," was all she replied.

Johnny was getting a little irritated by her catty vagueness. "Right," he muttered. "It's so obvious. How stupid of me."

"There's no need to be snappy, Mr Blaze," the demoness said casually, gathering her black hair behind her head and tying it back with the sash she had been wearing around her neck. "You just need to ask the right questions."

Johnny gripped the handlebars tightly, willing his patience to last five more minutes. "Help me out here."

"Think: _why _is there nothing here?"

He sat quietly, watching the sun begin to chase away the cold blue shadows of night. "Because it's a desert," he finally grumbled. "Nothing can live here."

"Right. But why?"

"Because it's too damned hot."

Lilith smirked, a Blackheart trademark. Johnny was beginning to understand where her son got his superior cockiness from. "Because there's no _water_, Johnny. And do you know why there's no water?"

"I don't — look, why are you-"

"Life, Johnny. Water is life. Everything in this mortal world needs water, from the dove to the serpent. Water is _spiritual_ life, as well. Baptisms, holy water, sacred wells — the Book is filled with accounts of water doing God's will." She turned her head to spit. "Water is the vessel of the spirit. It is omnipresent. Water kills and it sustains life. It destroys and rebuilds. It is the first mirror, the first reflection of self. Water is power. Nothing can live without it, not even angels and demons. Every wasteland on this planet contains a portal to Hell, Johnny, because the gateways suck out every ounce of water that rains down on the Earth and uses it to fuel the passage into the underworld."

Johnny massaged the bridge of his nose. "Of course. Why didn't I think of that."

"When you cross the River you will see for yourself how powerful this 'little element' really is."

"Okay, I get it. Water is power. Fine. But I'm not exactly running toward Hell with a hard-on, so unless you've got any useful information, just point me to the door and let me do what I've gotta do."

Lilith put on a disinterested expression. "Men," she mumbled. "They never want to read the instructions." She stalked past Blaze and crouched down. With her finger she drew a large circle in the sand around her, and began filling it with foreign symbols. Johnny put down his kickstand and watched her until she had finished and stood. "Do you have any water with you?"

Johnny crossed his arms. "No. My camel died fifty miles back."

"Alright," Lilith nodded, striding toward the bike. "Could you hold your arm our for me, Mr Blaze?"

"Why?"

"I need to look at it."

"You can see it fine from there."

"Just give me your goddamned arm, Johnny."

"Not until you — OW!" A blur. A strike. Two seconds later he reached up and put a hand to his bleeding cheek, where Lilith had clawed him so fast he didn't even feel the pain until she had his blood dripping from his nails. "What the fuck did you do that for!" he shouted angrily.

"Don't worry," the demoness retorted, "you're already starting to heal."

"What the hell, lady! You can't just-"

"Human blood is ninety percent water, Mr Blaze," Lilith said, walking to the symbol scrawled into the dirt and letting the blood drip from her fingers. "Since you didn't have any pure water, blood is the next best thing."

Johnny massaged the aching scratches that had already begun to close. "You could have told me that before ripping me a new one."

"I thought you were tired of my explanations." She looked up with a perfectly impish grin. "Besides, I kind of liked it."

Johnny shook his head, forcing himself not to smile. She was definitely demonic, nothing to smile about. A classic sick-humored, gloating, over-confident Hell-dweller. To make it worse she was charming and beautiful, which somehow both revolted and thrilled Johnny to the depths of his soul. Watching the curvy outline of Lilith's hips as she rose to her feet, he understood how Blackheart had come to pass into life from between her perfect thighs. Mephisto may loathe all things of beauty and grace, but he sure as hell wasn't blind. Or dead from the waist down.

A sudden low rumble disrupted Johnny's carnal thoughts, and he watched the ground disappear from beneath the symbol, sand raining down into a yawning mouth that grew wider and wider. Hot air rushed from the hole and brought with it an acrid, sickening odor. Sulfur, Blaze realized. Sulfur and something else . . .

"Smells, doesn't it?" Lilith asked, sidling up beside Johnny.

"Like the guts of a dead cow," he replied, grimacing.

"Close enough."

"What do I need to do?"

"Summon Zarathos. Once you enter, your mortal flesh will start decaying within minutes without the power of the Ghost Rider, so whatever you do, hold onto it."

"What about demons?"

"Don't look at them. Keep riding. If you meet their eyes then they'll see your human half, and they'll try to destroy it. If that happens, you become one of them and you can never leave."

"Great," Johnny muttered. "Anything else gonna try to kill me?"

Lilith pursed her lips. "You might experience some difficulty passing through the River."

"River?"

"The water through which mortal souls pass to the world of the dead. Which reminds me." She knelt down and scooped up a handful of sand, and casually dumped it into Johnny's jacket pocket. "That will help your transition. Don't lose it, either. You'll need it to get through again."

"Dirt?" Johnny asked dubiously.

"Earth," Lilith corrected solemnly. "You're bringing your world with you." She gazed into Blaze's eyes. "I'll be with you for the greater half of the journey, but the most dangerous part comes when I must stay behind. Remember the water, Johnny; that things aren't always what they seem. Open your mind and let the answers come to you. Don't force yourself to think or you'll never understand."

A rumble sounded again, and Lilith turned to stare at the cavernous maw. "The gate is closing. We must hurry." Before Johnny knew what was happening, a great wind flew up and forced him to shield his eyes. Sand and darkness swirled briefly for a moment, and when he lowered his arm the hair on the back of his neck rose. Gone was the dark-haired beauty called Lilith — what remained now was the truth behind the lie, a nightmare of violet and black spreading open a pair of grotesque, skinless appendages. Gnarled claws replaced the manicured nails; diseased white orbs where pale pretty eyes had batted long lashes; a mouth filled with needles causing all images of soft red lips to flee.

This was the Queen of Hell, and she was the most frightening sight Johnny Blaze had ever seen in his life.

"Now. We go," she hissed and, lifting herself up with her horrific wings, rose above the pit before plunging headfirst down into darkness.

Johnny gripped the handlebars so hard he heard his sweaty palms squeak against the metal. He glanced up at the last of the night shadows disappearing with the approaching dawn, and before the sun's first rays could rain their golden light upon him, his flesh melted away and his body burst into flames. He kicked his bike to life and it went up in a roar of fire. He sat sternly, blazing red and orange, and stared down into the gaping hole with his skeletal black eyes. And with an almost graceful maneuver, he rolled his front wheel over the edge and began to fall into Hell.

His tires touched down on a rough surface, and he rode vertically down the shaft. The light was disappearing behind him, and a final rumble assured him that the way had shut behind him. There was no turning back.

Johnny's heart hammered deep in the Rider's chest, a token of his mortality, journeying to a place it was never meant to go.

_God help me,_ he prayed. _Somebody help me._


	3. The Ninth Circle

**﻿The Ninth Circle**

_Samael had been one of His favorites in the beginning, a playful and intelligent being whose strict principles and ambitious ideas earned him a high rank among the heavenly host. Samael was proud of his position and used it to accomplish his many works. Where the other angels were fearfully respectful and resistant to change, Samael boldly questioned authority and sought means to alter God's realm so as to bring greater satisfaction to all._

_But the Father had not been interested in Samael's plans to better the lives of his Host — He was looking at creating something much greater, something beautiful that would hang in the void beyond Heaven's realm, a garden filled with life. So Samael's plans were pushed aside, and instead of trying to understand the reasons why, the angel retreated with his pride injured and a sense of great injustice fermenting in his heart._

_Soon he had stopped appearing before God and kept his ideas to himself, sharing his thoughts among a select few of the Host, angels who were easily persuaded. Many of them were already in awe of his genius and rank, and manipulation came easily. Soon they began to turn from God and listen readily to the grand ideas spoken from Samael's mouth, and as his audience grew, so did the rebel angel's resolve. And it was during this time of intimate planning that Samael came to know Floreus, an angel so lovely in face and heart that she captivated him from the moment they met._

_It is not known what drew them to one another; divine creatures regarded each other as beings of the same father, and never did their affection for one another stray beyond that of duty and respect. Perhaps it was fate, or maybe even an intentional God-given flaw in their souls, that led Samael and Floreus to seek out one another._

_What they shared behind turned backs was debatable. Whether it was simple lust or real love remains to be told, but their passions could not be rivaled, and whatever feelings they felt pulled greater than the gravity of God. They were foolish and ignorant, playing with powers they never knew they possessed, toying with gifts never meant for the selfish whims of their indulgence. It didn't take long for Floreus to soon realize that her being was changing, something was happening inside of her, and her fear and shame caused her to hide herself from God, seeking solace in Samael's sympathetic arms. Had she gone to the Father in the beginning, He might have pardoned her sins and welcomed her back. Her fear of divine judgment was what doomed her, and what ultimately condemned her for all eternity._

_It was a horrifying ordeal, the first birth. Though there was neither pain nor suffering, the terror of the act itself was the penance that Floreus paid for her dealings with Samael. She was left shaken, traumatized, watching this screaming little creature emerge from her own body, a memory that never left her. She was revolted by its appearance and its movements, and her first thought upon seeing it fully was to destroy it; atonement by death. But Samael lifted it up and held it in his arms, and said, "Damael. My seed."_

_And he passed the squirming infant to Floreus, who stared down at it with loathing. Then a pair of pale blue eyes opened, eyes that were her own, and she cradled the infant to her breast and wept, her heart filling with love for this living atrocity. It was her first creation, and already she loved it more than she could ever love herself._

_She was the first mother._

_And she was the first of the angels to fall._

† † †

Johnny wondered if this was anything like being cast out from Heaven as he roared deeper and deeper into the abyss, wheels of flame grinding harmlessly over the jagged rocks that lined the broad shaft. No fiery encounters yet, but he was sure he wouldn't have long to wait. A short distance ahead he heard the leathery swoop of Lilith's massive wings, and he was grateful that he couldn't see her through the shadows.

The walls grew suddenly smoother before they abruptly began to widen into an expansive space. Up ahead the Rider noticed a faint blue glow radiating outward, growing stronger as he approached. Suddenly the rocks beneath his wheels disappeared, and he was free falling through empty black space toward a sparkling blue ribbon of liquid light. He righted his bike in midair with the calm precision of a seasoned stuntman, and continued to sail down toward the ribbon, flames billowing. As the light intensified he saw Lilith flying nearby. The vein of blue widened, its surface rolling and moving like water, and it was then that Blaze realized this was the River. As he fell closer he could begin to see shapeless forms of white mist passing into it, becoming one with the otherworldly water. Newly departed souls.

"Do they all go to Hell?" he shouted to the demoness.

"Not all," Lilith answered in a guttural growl. "Pure souls flow with the River and to Heaven — the rest pass through into damnation."

_Great_, Blaze thought, and braced himself before he plunged into the blue.

His speed decreased as he broke the surface with a thick splash, but he continued downward, like passing through a viscous gel. He could see the lights of individual souls flowing above, below and beside him. But others, he saw, as if they were weighted by their sins, were sinking down, down, down. Johnny could hear the muffled echoes of their cries as they tried to swim, tried to follow the other souls bound for Paradise. _The guilty deserve it_, the Ghost Rider thought. But Johnny's heart began to ache with pity.

And then suddenly he was through, falling into darkness once more. The flames swirling about his skull momentarily retained a bluish color from the River before returning to their true hellfire red. Up ahead he saw a faint gray light, and in another few seconds he had entered the First Circle of Hell, a colorless wasteland of crumbling, dead mountains whose roots seemed to go down forever. Lines of ragged, decaying souls shuffled slowly in single file down the spiraling staircases set into the mountains' sides. Flying creatures circled in the air, mouths with wings, lashing the damned with their wicked tongues. The realm was huge, wider than any distance Blaze had ever jumped, and at his speed of descent he had not even taken in all the details before he was passing into the Second Circle.

Each level was a new nightmare; if the first was despair, the second was fury. Angry screams and curses filled the rank, humid air, accompanied by the sounds of bones snapping and flesh being beaten. Johnny saw the shadows of the demonic tormentors and quickly turned his head, hoping that they would take no notice of him.

The Third, Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Circles flew by in succession, briefly and at the same time like an eon in passing. The farther he fell the lighter he seemed to become — less real, like a ghost. Falling made him sleepy, relaxed, dull-minded. It began to feel good. His memory started to flicker in and out, and sometimes it was as if he had just woken from a trance to find himself tumbling through one layer of Hell after another. Alice down the Rabbit Hole. It was just a dream, and any moment he would wake up in a motel bed, lonely and empty as he had been yesterday and all the days before. Row row row your soul. Life is but a dream. The only thing that seemed real anymore was the pocketful of dirt that sat heavily in his jacket. Blaze knew he was beginning to lose himself in the mind-numbing power of Hell, but he imagined the yellow sand he carried, the faces of his friends, the sounds of a crowd chanting his name, and it helped him to hang on.

_Blackheart_, he thought darkly, _you're going to pay for every second of this fucking trip._

Suddenly Lilith swooped to the Rider's side. "We're approaching the Eighth Circle," she hissed. "I must leave you."

"Any last words of wisdom?" he shouted.

The demoness turned to look at him, and even the power of Zarathos shuddered at the sight of her dead white eyes. "Great treason deserves great punishment," she admonished, and with a final growl she spread her wings. Like a parachute opening, she stopped in the air while Blaze kept falling, and passed into the Eighth Circle.

Like the other Circles before, this one was narrower than the first, smaller but more terrible. Each sin carried its own consequences, and the greater the sin the fewer the souls, for few humans had committed deeds as wicked as those that earned them a special place in the lower Circles. The Eighth was a bloodbath, exactly what Johnny had ever imagined Hell to be like. Burning, blistering heat, thick smoke that choked the lungs and stung the eyes, gigantic ferocious demons both with forms of rock and fire, tearing at the bodies of the damned with teeth and claws, eating souls alive and regurgitating them to rip them to shreds all over again. The screaming and the stench was so mighty that the power of Zarathos wavered with unconsciousness and threatened to fade — but Johnny forced himself to ignore the nightmare around him, keeping his sight locked onto the approaching darkness ahead: the Ninth Circle.

It came up like a bolt of lightning; the heat and misery were gone in a flash and an icy coldness that went soul-deep surrounded the Rider. His fire nearly went out, so awful was this bitter chill. And almost before he could react he saw the End, a vast floor of dark ice. "Shit!" he cursed, and braced himself for impact.

He hit the ice like a nuclear bomb, and a deafening shatter echoed high up into the darkness, spraying shards of razor sharp ice and sending up billowing clouds of steam. It was utterly solid through and through, like slamming into a concrete wall at a thousand miles an hour. Blaze went flying from his bike, skidding across the ice. The Hellcycle went out, the melted ice extinguishing its flames, though it was relatively unharmed by the crash.

When Johnny finally came to a halt, he sucked in a gasp of air, choking, and blinked his mortal eyes. The impact had been so severe that it had knocked the Spirit of Vengeance completely out of him. Johnny looked down at his hand and saw the tell-tale blue poison of death begin to seep in, akin to the fatal touch of Blackheart. With a startled yelp Blaze summoned up his power and burst into a vision of flames and bone, safe once more. As safe as one could be in Hell.

With a grunt he crawled to his feet and looked around. A broad field of ice stretched on, ending at walls of shiny black rock that could scarcely be seen in the faint light. The Rider looked beneath his feet and saw the frozen face of some unknown sinner staring back at him. Blaze didn't think it was such a bad thing to be locked in ice for all eternity, but then he heard something, many things. Low moans, sounds from behind a wall . . . The muffled screams of the trapped.

"Oh God," Johnny uttered, stepping back. They were _alive_. But why? Why were they being kept alive? He didn't want to know. He didn't care to know. He had to find Blackheart and get the hell out of Hell.

He turned, scanning his surroundings. The field of unmarked graves seemed to stretch on forever. What was he supposed to do, start and one end and pray he'd get lucky sometime in the next thousand years? Bullshit. There was no way Blaze could find the Devil's son in this fucking hockey rink.

_No. Stop Thinking. You'll never figure it out. Remember. What did she say? _Great treason deserves great punishment._ Water. Be like water._

Johnny stepped carefully across the ice, one boot in front of the other, and came to an ebony wall.

_Great treason. Great punishment . . . He's in a special place._

He began to walk, trailing his burning hand on the rock.

_A place reserved for great treason. The Devil's own son . . ._

He walked and walked, seeing without looking, tracing a path about the entire realm of ice. And then, just as he was beginning to lose hope, Johnny's hand touched nothing. He looked up. Pure darkness. A doorway. Summoning his resolve, he stepped into the blackness and promptly fell. He hit hard again and again, rolling and slamming and sliding down what must have been eight million stairs before crashing to a halt on another field of ice, though this one was much smaller.

The Rider stood and set his broken neck with a twist of his head, then looked around. Dead ahead across the ice was a great throne of black. Blaze felt his fear rise when he realized he was looking at the seat of Satan. He could feel the power glowing invisibly from it, tightening its grip around his soul.

_Stop thinking. Start looking._

He snapped to attention and began searching. One body, two, five, twelve. None of them Blackheart. What if he wasn't here anymore? What if Mephisto had moved him, taken him elsewhere?

_Stop thinking. Keep looking._

Another face. Not Blackheart. Another body. And another. Johnny was drawing closer to the throne, and it became more and more of a struggle for him to remember where he was, why he was here, the sand in his pocket, the faces of his friends, the people that he loved-

And there he was.

Blaze balked and stared at the ice beneath his feet. Blackheart was reaching forth with his pale hands, an expression of terror and sorrow twisting his beaten, bloodied face. He looked as if the only thing holding him together was the ice surrounding him, because he was so far beyond torn to ribbons that he was sickening to behold.

The Rider crouched down and growled, "You got less than what you deserved, Blackheart. But I need your allegiance now, and I _will_ have it."

Balling his hands into fists of fiery bone, Blaze drew back and punched the ice. It merely cracked under his demonic strength, but it had yielded — he struck again. And again. And again. Both fists pummeled the ice, frost and shards and hissing steam rising from the hole he was digging. And then, with one final and mighty blow, the ice broke apart and he hauled Blackheart's limp body from its grave.

Blaze stood with a grunt, carrying the senseless demon in his arms, and began to make his way to the stairs. He fought the urge to glance down at Blackheart, not wishing to feel pity for him as he'd felt for the damned souls in the River. But the more he thought about it the harder it became to resist, and when Johnny finally looked down at the body in his arms, he saw a young man — no, a kid — beaten and mangled almost beyond recognition. He could see Mephisto dealing the punishment, blow after blow, a father who hated his son. It made Blaze think of his own father, of the rare slaps he'd gotten for being a smartass, but there was no comparison here. Blackheart was almost dead. A father had almost killed his own son.

It made Johnny angry, _that_ he could admit. But it would be a cold day in Hell before he admitted that he sympathized with the son of the Devil.

He had just put his foot on the first stair when a deep, echoing growl rose up from behind him. Blaze stopped in his tracks, wishing he could never turn around. With reluctance born of terror, he turned his flaming skull toward the Devil's throne. At first it was too dark to make anything out, but then he saw two large red lanterns appear high above the throne. Only they weren't lanterns. They were eyes.

Riveted to the spot in horror, Blaze watched the chamber's faint light catch a massive black body covered in scales, uncoiling and slithering into view with a deep snarl rumbling deep in its belly. It was the Beast, the Dragon, the Bane of Saint George.

"She didn't tell me about you," Blaze muttered, standing still as the dragon clicked its huge claws against the ice, lowering its hideous head, poising for attack. For a moment the two stared each other down, and then Johnny slowly kneeled, setting down Blackheart's body. The creature's snarl fell to a low rumble.

_So he's guarding Junior while Daddy's away_, Johnny thought mirthlessly. _Does this job get any better?_

With smooth movements he reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and kept his fist closed. "Come and get him," he hissed through his teeth, "if you want him back so badly."

With an answering growl the beast came forward, claws shrieking on the ice. Blaze controlled his panic as it came closer and closer, until it stood before him, capable of swallowing him in a single bite.

"Take him," the Rider dared. "He's yours."

The dragon lowered its horn-studded, grotesque head. A reeking odor left its mouth as it prepared to take up Blackheart's body. With a flourish Blaze flung a handful of sand into the beast's red eyes. It reared back with an ear-shattering scream of agony, and Johnny gathered the demon's body in his arms and raced up the stairs. The whole place shook from the noise of that horrible creature, and Blaze couldn't take the steps fast enough. There seemed to be no end to them, but still he ran forward, fear lending him speed. He emerged into the larger room of ice just as a column of fire burst out from behind him. But unlike his own flames, these _burned_. The dragonfire licked at his jacket, singeing the leather.

Shit shit _shit_.

He spotted his bike and made a run for it. The wall behind him shattered as the bellowing dragon burst through, its eyes steaming and hissing from the effects of mortal soil. Johnny slid to his bike and hauled it up from the ice, mounting it and dragging Blackheart on with him. He slid his chain off his shoulder and positioned the demon in front of him, then wrapped the chain around himself and his unconscious passenger.

The dragon let out a roar and spread its scaly wings. Blaze's bike rumbled to life, tires igniting just as the beast began thundering across the ice, its serpentine body spastic with rage. Revving three times, Blaze released the clutch and went careening straight for the rock wall. Just before impact he popped a wheelie, and the tires locked to the wall. He gunned it for all he was worth and came screaming from the Ninth Circle with the dragon of the Apocalypse eating his flaming wake.

He must have really pissed that thing off, because it was running him down like a jackrabbit. Johnny went full throttle and bounced dangerously off of fire-spewing rocks. Demons snarled as the Rider plowed through their realm, and recognized the scent of mortal flesh. They took up the chase, and as Blaze barreled into the Seventh Circle he had a legion of Hell's best on his tail. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lilith dive down from the darkness above, rushing past him with a scream and colliding head-on with the dragon. An eruption of snarls and screeches shook the entire Circle, and when the Rider looked back he saw a tangle of shadows fighting tooth and nail . . . Stalling. Giving him time to escape.

Through this sea of hellish chaos, Johnny found himself wondering how a mother could possibly love her son enough to battle the Beast to save him.

Sixth Circle. Full speed. Flecks of chrome began to fly from the Hellcycle. He was going too fast. The damage from the fall was beginning to take its toll.

_I have to get out of here. I don't want to die here. God, don't let me die here._

Fifth circle. Pings and bangs sounded as bolts came loose, rattling. If his bike failed, it was the end for Blaze. For everybody.

A roar came from behind. The dragon was back and so was Lilith, fleeing for her life.

Fourth Circle. The bike began to shake.

Third Circle. Blaze gritted his teeth and leaned forward, a barren desert now the most beautiful image he had left in his mind.

Second Circle. He could see the blue light of the River far ahead.

First Circle. _Almost there. Hold up, baby, don't let me down . . ._

He hit the River and stalled, the flames of his bike going out. Lilith tore up through the blueness, and Johnny tried to kick-start the Hellcycle. But the water . . .

A muffled sound caused him to turn his head, and he saw the dragon's open mouth descending on the River.

Oh God no. Not like this.

A black blur streaked down from above and grasped the handlebars, wrenching the Rider and Blackheart from the path of the beast's closing jaws. Lilith, torn and bleeding, hauled them free of the stream and carried the bike until her strength failed her. Tires met with the wall of the shaft and Blaze reached out an arm to catch Lilith's mortal form as she started to fall back toward the River. He pulled her up and held her close, and wrenched the throttle until it screamed at full bore. They thundered up and up, into darkness, into God only knows what, and then, like being born a second time, blinding white light exploded into being and everything came to a crashing, splintering halt.

Johnny felt the warmth of the sun and raised his head. A dry yellow desert stretched on to sight's end. Nearby he saw the broken remains of his bike, the bloody body of a beautiful woman, and the mutilated form of her son. He rolled over and stared at a blue sky.

He smiled briefly, the survivor of Hell. Then his mind faded into the dark and disappeared.


	4. Butterflies

**﻿Butterflies**

"You should be dead, John," Mack muttered to him, kneeling down and carefully removing the flame-emblazoned motorcycle helmet. "Nobody could be this lucky."

Five other faces stared worriedly down at him, babbling questions and patting him all over, checking for injuries. Someone called for a paramedic, but Johnny knew he didn't need one. He smiled up at Mack and held out his hand. "You gonna help me up, or do you plan on standing there and preaching to the choir all night?"

The other man grinned and shook his head, and grasped Johnny's gloved hand. "You're a hell of a guy, J.B. No mistake." Mack pulled, Johnny's stomach filled with butterflies, and then he was suddenly lying on his back, staring at a framed watercolor of a cactus.

He blinked. A dream.

He rolled over, feeling as if he was going to be sick. This was reality, a world where Mack was dead and Roxanne was gone, everyone he cared about left behind. Blaze's stomach cramped and he drew his knees up. The smell of mothballs and air freshener filled his nostrils, and when he finally opened his red-rimmed eyes he found himself staring at the interior of a two-bed motel room, shabby and outdated. Stifling a moan, he sat up dizzily. His temples throbbed. Every bone and muscle and nerve ending in his body ached, and he was dying of thirst. His hunger was no better.

_Where am I? How did I get here?_

Who cared. He was alive and that was all that mattered. He was alive and Mack was dead.

Wincing from the pain of memory, Johnny stood unsteadily from the bed and stumbled his way to the bathroom. He bumped through the door and went straight to the sink, peeling off his shirt and turning on the faucet. He dunked his head beneath the cool stream of water and let it run into his mouth. He drank and drank, like he'd been lost in the desert for three days, and splashed the water on his bare chest.

He shut off the faucet and leaned heavily on the sink, raising his head to gaze at his reflection in the mirror. He felt worse than he looked: a bruise on his cheek, a cut on his forehead, a red burn shaped like the links of a chain near his neck. He had dark circles under his eyes and he doubted his hair would ever be the same again, but he was alive. Alive and breathing.

He stood straight and reached for the towel hanging on the wall behind him. His fingers had only just brushed the cloth when a dark shape caught his eye, peeking out from behind the hazy shower curtain. Blaze lowered his hand, and felt what was behind it before he actually knew it. He threw back the curtain with a ringing rip.

Water shimmered over the top of the bathtub and overflowed in tiny rivulets. At the bottom lay Blackheart, eyes closed and lips parted slightly, his black hair drifting weightlessly in the water. He bore a deep red patch of abrasion on his brow, and on either side of his face ran a savage slash from cheekbone to mouth. His wounds looked incredibly deep; however, his expression was peaceful, relaxed. He was sleeping. His butchered body was nude, completely submerged save for his knees, and despite the lacerations and chunks of raw, missing flesh, there was something about him that was undeniably attractive.

Johnny clenched his fists, furious and confused. Blackheart was right in front of him, weak and vulnerable. Killing him would be so easy. Vengeance for Mack. Vengeance for himself. All he had to do was move. If he could just move, all of this would be over. No more regret. No more crusades for justice. It could be ended right now, and all he had to do was move.

"He's regenerating," said a voice from behind, and Johnny turned to see Lilith standing in the doorway, looking the worse for wear. She was dressed in jeans and a black camisole, her right bicep wrapped in bloody gauze, and she had a long gouge running from brow to collarbone. She was covered in scrapes and bruises. "He could be unconscious for days. I don't know how long it will take for him to fully heal." She turned her gaze from Johnny to the tub, and hot tears filled her eyes. "Mephistopheles," she whispered and then spat, the name as cursed to her as God's.

She raised her eyes to Johnny, her bottom lip trembling slightly. "Thank you," she said so quietly that it was barely audible.

Blaze gave her a cold look and grabbed his shirt, shouldering his way past Lilith. "You owe me," he muttered.

"Yes," she admitted, "I do. How can I begin repaying you?"

"I want my life back," he snapped, pulling on his shirt and grabbing his torched-looking leather jacket.

"I can't give you that," Lilith said.

"Then you have nothing I want."

"Johnny-"

"I've done my part," he interrupted angrily, pointing toward the bathroom. "I rescued that goddamned brat of yours, and I don't want anything to do with him or you for the rest of my life."

Lilith looked stunned. "You can't just leave us!"

"Watch me." And Blaze stepped toward the door.

"No!" she cried, blocking his path. "You promised!"

"I don't think so."

"Johnny, please!" Lilith grabbed the man's arms, her expression twisted with desperation. "We need you to help us see this to an end. Atrocor and I can't go up against Mephisto on our own. I mean, look at my son. Look at _me_."

"Yeah, poor you. I just went through nine circles of Hell, was almost killed by a fucking dragon, completely destroyed my bike, and now you want me to stand here and think about how hard _you_ have it?" Blaze shook his head. "Unbelievable. This conversation is over." He pulled himself free and threw the door open.

Lilith followed him as far as the threshold. "I saved your life!" she yelled angrily.

"And now I'm going to live it!" he shouted back, striding across the hot pavement.

The demoness deliberated for a moment, hesitant to leave her son in his condition, but she couldn't let Blaze walk out on them both. It couldn't end here. She shut the door behind herself and jogged to catch up with him. "You shouldn't be walking around like this," she stated, trotting quickly to match Blaze's long strides. "You just barely escaped Hell not 24 hours ago, and you're almost in as bad a condition as Atrocor."

"You sound like my mother," Johnny muttered.

"Your mother died before you could walk. Johnny, wait. Johnny —_ will you listen to me_!"

He stopped and Lilith stomped out in front of him. He didn't look the least bit fazed as he stared down at the shorter woman.

"You shouldn't be out now, and if _they_ see you there's going to be trouble," she said lowly, jabbing a finger into his chest. "You're being hunted. We all are."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with my little jailbreak, would it?"

"This isn't funny, Johnny. Those demons have seen you now, and they won't give up the search until they're hauling your ass down into the pit, kicking and screaming."

"Isn't that ironic. A bounty on the Devil's bounty hunter."

"Atrocor and I are in as much danger as you are. We need to stick together."

Johnny smiled coldly. "Well, I guess that makes us one big happy family now, doesn't it?"

"Please. Stay with us. Until we find Mephisto. Until we locate the Antichrist and destroy it. Until the armies of Hell retreat for another millennia. Then you're free to live your life, and so are we."

Blaze squinted his eyes at Lilith. "You and Blackheart. Huh. Sounds like you two get the better side of this deal."

"We've suffered in ways you'll never know," she said venomously. "We'll fight to have our vengeance. Our lives depend on it. We can't fail."

Johnny sighed heavily and put his hands on his hips. His eyes drifted across the decrepit parking lot and came to rest on the greasy spoon diner a hundred yards off. "Fine," he muttered. "You can tell me more about it after breakfast."

† † †

_The butterfly alighted on the flower, unfurling its long tongue and probing for nectar. A pair of brilliant golden wings batted open and closed slowly as it made its was across the petals. The boy leaned closer, watching with an intelligent gaze in his pale blue eyes. A warm breeze swept across the sunny garden, rustling through the leaves of the trees. Carefully, with unnatural stealth, he reached thumb and forefinger toward the butterfly, and gently pinched its wings together. He smiled and lifted it from the flower, watching it frantically wave its legs. He brought up his other hand and, carefully grasping the fuzzy back body, pulled._

_There was a quiet crack as the butterfly's wings came free, and the boy laughed. He dropped the helpless creature to the ground, and rose to run away with his prize. On the ground, the mutilated butterfly, a creature so beautiful and innocent, feebly kicked its thin legs until they stopped moving altogether._

_The boy ran across the grass to the woman in white, who turned and smiled to see her son approaching. "Mother! Mother!" he cried. "I brought a present for you!"_

_"Did you?" she laughed, kneeling down to put her arms around her little boy. "What could it be?"_

_"These!" he exclaimed, holding up the severed wings._

_"Oh, those certainly are_ pretty_, Atrocor," she spoke dramatically, accepting the gift. "You're getting much better at hunting insects, aren't you?"_

_He grinned cutely and nodded, the breeze blowing his black hair across his forehead. He raised his arms and Lilith gathered him up, rested him on her hip. "Soon you'll be hunting much bigger insects, won't you?"_

_"Like Father!"_

_"Yes, like your father. He hunts for insects, too. Insects of a different kind."_

_The boy's expression became oddly solemn for a moment. "Why is Father gone so long?"_

_"He has business to attend to," Lilith replied quietly._

_Atrocor wrapped his chubby arms around his mother's neck. "I like it when he's away."_

_"Why do you say that?"_

_"Because we get to come to the green place a lot. I __like it here."_

_Lilith looked away. "I know you do, Atrocor. But never forget where your home is. Your father wouldn't want you to forget. Besides, it would make him sad if you stayed here all the time, wouldn't it?"_

_The boy admitted glumly, "I guess." He wriggled in Lilith's arms and she put him down._

_Before he could run off to search for more butterflies, she took him by the hands and kneeled down to his height, looking into his eyes. The two stared at one another briefly, and then Lilith smiled. "You're growing up so fast," she said. "I'm afraid you're going to forget about me."_

_The boy's eyes went wide. "Not me! I won't forget you."_

_"I'm glad, Atrocor. I know it's easy to forget things when we're at home. Things like love." She paused to wipe her eyes and remove the silver ring she wore on her finger. Taking up her son's right hand, she slid the ring onto his plump thumb, a good fit. When the boy looked at her with confusion, she chuckled. "A gift for you, since you gave me a gift. Promise me you won't lose it?"_

_Atrocor grinned and looked down at his present. "I promise!" he chirped, toying with the ring._

_"When you look at it, think of me," Lilith murmured._

_"I will, Mother."_

_She watched him turn and dart across the grass, his awkward steps and flapping arms a picture of childlike innocence. Innocence that wouldn't last for much longer._

_Lilith stood and gazed out across the horizon. Dark clouds were building in the east; Mephisto would be returning shortly. Soon little Atrocor would grow into his ring, and Lilith's part would be over. His Father would look after him from then on, and a mother's love would be the only light drifting in a sea of malevolence and darkness._

_She listened to the distant laughter of her son, and let the butterfly's wings flutter from her grasp._

† † †

The Rider and the Queen of Hell sat across the booth from one another, not speaking. Lilith stirred her coffee with a gentle clinking sound as an old western song belted out of the ancient speakers above. Johnny shoved a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. He was already on his second plate, but only now was he beginning to feel satisfied.

"So," he said, glancing around, "where are we, anyway?"

"I'm not all that sure myself," Lilith admitted. "When I woke up all I could think about was getting to safety. This was the first place I came to." She lifted the spoon from her coffee and stubbed out the rest of her cigarette in the ashtray. "Seems to be inconspicuous enough. I suggest we lay low for a few days, wait for our bodies to heal. We might deceive them for a while, staying close instead of running far. It'd be the last thing they'd expect."

Johnny put down his fork and pushed away his empty plate. "Who are 'they', exactly?"

"Take your pick. Ghosts, poltergeists, possessing demons, any earth-dwelling spirits. They've all been alerted of our presence and will be looking for us. That's what happens when demons come to the mortal world without permission."

"So Hell has an APB out on us. Somehow that doesn't make me feel better."

"We've got some hardships ahead of us," Lilith confessed. "That's why it's so important that we band together."

"Yeah, about that . . ."

"Each of us will fall if we try to stand on our own against Meph-"

"Lilith."

"What?"

"I'm not sure you appreciate just how much I hate Blackheart. I think the likelihood of us working together stands about a snowball's chance of happening-"

"I know, I know."

"He killed my best friend and ruined my life-"

"No," she interrupted, raising her finger, "_Mephisto_ ruined your life. Atrocor just got in the way."

"Well I didn't need insult added to injury. He almost killed the love of my life-"

"Who has moved on without you, I've heard."

"That's beside the point."

"So what _is_ your point, Johnny?"

"Your son is on my shit list, that's the point. And if we somehow get through the Apocalypse alive, there is no force on Earth or Heaven or Hell that's going to stop me from kicking his ass." Blaze paused, tapping his knuckle against the table. "Rescuing him was a necessary evil. The minute I'm through with the both of you, he's history."

Lilith frowned. "Even though we swore to never harm another person again?"

"That won't make up for all the wrong he's done."

"Humans get a second chance," she snapped. "Why can't _we_?"

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "Reformed demons . . . How can they be trusted?"

"We'd give our word!"

"Yeah? Mephisto gave his word too, and my dad died the very next day. Is that your idea of a fair deal?"

"I'm not Mephisto, and neither is my son! Have a little faith in us, Johnny."

"Faith in demons sounds a bit too crazy for my tastes."

"Says the man who considers eating jellybeans out of a martini glass a good way to unwind after a long day."

The look on Johnny's face was almost hilarious. "Okay. I walked right into that one."

Lilith cracked a weary smile. "So you'll trust me?"

"Maybe. But your son's another story."

† † †

They returned to the motel room with troubled minds and a deepening sense of the severity of their situation. Johnny made up an excuse that he was going into town to see if he could find some wheels to replace his old ones, but the truth was he didn't want to hang around Lilith and Blackheart. And he certainly didn't want to be there when the little bastard woke up.

So when he strode into the bathroom and found Blackheart sitting upright, wet hair matted to his head, dripping water and staring into space, Blaze was understandably upset. "LILITH," he shouted, backing against the open door. "LILITH, GET IN HERE NOW."

The demon in the bathtub didn't seem to hear or see him, either that or he just didn't care. When Lilith came rushing in, she let out a cry and fell to her knees beside the tub. She reached out and began stroking Blackheart's hair, petting his face and embracing him carefully to avoid further injury. "Oh my baby — Atrocor! It's alright now, darling, Mother is here for you."

Blackheart turned his head toward her, though his eyes remained distant. His lips trembled and he breathed, "F-Father. So cold . . ."

"You're safe now, Atrocor," Lilith hushed, holding her grown son in her arms. "Father won't hurt you anymore. He can't find you here."

Numbly Blackheart accepted his mother's embrace and rested his chin on her shoulder. Blaze watched with disturbed fascination as the demoness cooed and spoke softly to her still-mutilated son, whose eyes remained fixed and unseeing. Just when Johnny was deciding that he'd better leave the two to their privacy, the pale blue eyes blinked, shifted, and locked on to Johnny.

A startled expression crossed Blackheart's face and he suddenly spasmed, pulling away from his mother and drawing back with a splash. "_You_," he spoke in a raspy, panicked voice, devoid of its ethereal undertone.

"It's alright now, baby," Lilith shushed, grasping his arms. "Relax, he won't hurt you."

"Yet," Blaze added, glaring at the demon with an unmistakable sense of hostility.

Lilith turned around with her eyes practically blazing. "Don't threaten him in his condition, you insensitive jerk! Can't you see he's terrified of you?"

"I can't imagine why."

"You know damned well why —_ you're_ the one who sent him back to his father in the first place. Now you're going to help make things right again. Up now, Atrocor. Mother's got you. Johnny, help me carry him."

"I beg your pardon?"

"GET OVER HERE AND HOLD ONTO HIM, OR SO HELP ME YOU'LL NEVER FIND ANOTHER JELLYBEAN ON THIS GODDAMNED EARTH EVER AGAIN."

Johnny would have assisted with or without the threat — the sight of the Queen of Hell in demonic mothering mode was enough of an incentive to act. And so, without a word of protest, Johnny stepped over to the bathtub and took his greatest foe by his pale, bare arm, and hoisted him to his feet. Blackheart wobbled weakly and Lilith let go to grab a nearby towel — he immediately collapsed onto Johnny, wrapping his arms around his neck to break his fall. Johnny almost slipped in the water covering the floor, but his boot smashed into the toilet and kept him from slipping any further. "Sorry," he muttered without thinking, and Blackheart slowly raised his dripping head to stare pathetically at the man.

Johnny was revolted.

Revolted at himself for thinking that Blackheart had inherited every ounce of his mother's sexual beauty.

"Come, Atrocor," Lilith whispered, wrapping a towel around her son and steadying him once more. Together she and Blaze helped Blackheart over the tub, out of the bathroom, and into bed. They eased him down onto the mattress, and Lilith proceeded to dry him off. Johnny stepped back and looked with disdain at the wet spots on his shirt and pants. Demon water. _Un_holy water. He raised his head. Lilith was speaking to him quietly, stroking Blackheart's hair, tucking the covers around him. He was shivering, and she crawled into bed with him and put her arms around him, still talking softly.

"Will he be okay?" Blaze asked hesitantly, not really caring.

"He still feels the ice," Lilith murmured. "Another day or two and his heart would have frozen. Then he'd be dead, just another mindless puppet for Mephisto to exploit." She laid her forehead against the back of Blackheart's head.

". . . he has a heart?"

"Of course he does," Lilith snapped impatiently. "So do I, and so does every angel who's ever been cast out of Heaven."

Johnny furrowed his brow. "A heart, but no soul?"

"Angels don't have souls, Johnny. They _are_ souls."

The man stared at the demons before him, his mind a whirlwind of confusion. "So . . . Demons a-"

"-are souls too."

Blaze opened his mouth to say something but found he had nothing to say. He quietly made his way to the door and stepped out into the bright light, leaving Blackheart and his mother to sleep in the peaceful darkness of the motel room.


	5. The Child

**﻿The Child**

_Two figures stood upon a rocky precipice, watching the panic below. Rain poured down in torrents, pelting the screaming masses as they clawed at the great wooden door barred to them. Thunder rumbled loudly, and the shorter of the figures cringed at the sound. The taller put his hand on the smaller one's shoulder and smiled. "Do not fear," he murmured coolly. "It is nature, not Him."_

_They continued to watch the water rise from their safe vantage point, staring placidly at the scrambling and the chaos. Suddenly a roaring wave exploded from between the clay buildings and began to sweep away men, women and children, who screamed and thrashed and were finally pulled under. Brown water swept through the entire city, engulfing and cleansing. Washing the world of sin._

_"All that work for nothing," Blackheart said in a small voice. "He ruined everything."_

_"Not everything, my son. We will have the souls of these sinners received in our house, and the ark carries many survivors. We shall prey on them like wolves on sheep, and soon our realm will grow fat with their descendants. And they will be many. So you see, Atrocor, not everything is lost."_

_The boy nodded wisely, and with complete detachment watched a child below fight for her life in the deadly water. Beside him, Mephistopheles smiled and patted his shoulder._

_The learning had begun._

† † †

A pair of pale blue eyes fluttered open. His mind could not even begin to comprehend his own pain — he felt it without thinking; every gouge, every cut, every burn, every chill. He shuddered and pressed closer to the warmth beside him. A familiar scent, a familiar touch.

"Mother?" he whispered.

Lilith opened her eyes and discovered her son awake, looking dazed and concerned. She rose up and touched his cheek. "I'm here, Atrocor," she said. "Don't worry. You need to rest now, sweetie. You're very weak and-"

"I thought . . . thought I saw the Rider."

"Shh, shh. Don't worry about him now. He's gone. Just go back to sleep. I'll be here to watch over you."

Blackheart weakly did as he was told, his eyes falling closed. Lilith stroked her son's handsome face and smiled sadly, watching him drift off. Still he seemed angelic, hardly the monster that his father had turned him into. Lilith gritted her teeth. If she ever saw Mephisto again she was going to do to him what he did to their son.

She took up one of Blackheart's hands and tried to massage some warmth back into his fingers. She paused when she touched metal, and her eyes shimmered wetly as she ran her thumb over her old ring. Still unscratched, still as bright as it had been when she'd worn it in Paradise. Though she'd long forgotten what the symbols etched onto the silver face meant, it made her happy that, despite all of Mephisto's molding and perversion, her son had still kept her in his heart.

"I'm so sorry, baby," Lilith whispered, though she knew Blackheart was asleep. "It should have been me. You were the only innocent one."

She curled up beside her son once more, and silently shed her tears of regret.

† † †

Johnny made his way down the sidewalk, trying to keep in the shade. The sun beat down mercilessly, and the town seemed barely inhabited, even for its small size. Just a few years away from becoming a ghost town, he thought, looking around for signs of life. The distant rumble and clatter of train tracks came from an unseen point behind the buildings. Johnny spotted a man sitting outside of a run-down gas station on the other side of the street, and he strode across the dusty, cracked pavement.

"Afternoon," he nodded his greeting to the old man, likely the owner, who stared at Blaze and said nothing. "Could you tell me the name of this town?"

"No."

Johnny raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Ain't got no name, son."

"So what do you call it?"

"'Here'," the old man stated.

Johnny nodded. "I can deal with that. Hey, I'm looking for a ride. This place have a chop shop or something?"

The man narrowed his eyes.

"Anyplace I could pick up a bike or-"

"You look a lot like that feller," the old timer interrupted, cocking his head as he stared at Blaze. "That motorcycle feller what gone missin' 'bout ten years ago. Yer a dead ringer, son."

Johnny frowned. "You don't mean Johnny Blaze, do you?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"He's missing?"

The old man became more animated. "Where you been, son, under a rock? Whole US of A was talkin' about it."

"I must have missed the show. What happened to him?"

"Hell if I know. Hell if anyone knows. Just disappeared, bike and all. Been no word for about nine years now."

Johnny's head spun. Everything seemed suddenly surreal. "Nine years? When did he go missing?" The questions came fast, his heart pounding uncontrollably, and never had he hoped so desperately that he was talking to a crazy, senile geezer.

The old man inclined his head to think. "Why, I reckon it was about August 2007. Yeah, that sounds 'bout right."

Blaze swallowed dryly. "Thanks for your help, mister," he said in a shaking voice. "Is there an — is there a phone nearby I could use?"

The man leaned forward and pointed down the road. "Might wanna try Charlie's. He's got a line."

Johnny nodded to the old man and began to walk quickly toward the convenience store at the end of the street.

† † †

_Central Park  
New York City, NY_

The man dressed in a dark coat sat on the bench, leaning forward on his cane as he watched a mother and her child approach. The woman was middle-aged and tall, dressed fashionably in black and talking on her satellite phone. Her red hair was piled up on her head and she held her daughter by the hand as they walked. She was so engrossed in her conversation that she didn't see the man until they were almost in front of him.

"_Ich muss mit Sie später sprechen_," she said abruptly to her client, and snapped her phone shut. She narrowed her eyes at the man. "What do you want, Caine?"

Mephistopheles smiled in that sincere yet insolent way of his. "Just a little time with my daughter, Carmen."

The little girl let go of her mother's hand and rushed to Mephisto, who caught her in his arms. "Hello, my dear," he laughed. "You've certainly grown since Daddy's last seen you. You must be ten now, right?"

"Just turned nine last month," the little girl said, climbing into her father's lap.

Carmen Schwarz put her hand on her hip and glared. "You have no business showing up like this. I've been all over Europe for the past six months, dragging Malinda through airports and meetings, and I'm sick of it. She's _your_ daughter too, Caine. Why am I the one always stuck with her? I told you when we met that I didn't want children for this exact reason. But you just had to have a baby, didn't you? My job is stressful enough without having a brat to look after."

"Then you'll be relieved to know that I'm here to take Malinda off your hands," Mephisto said nonchalantly, rising from the bench. The girl slid off his lap and put her small hand in his. "But I'm afraid there are some loose ends to tie up."

Carmen scoffed. "You want full custody? Done. I'll call my attorney first thing tomorr-"

"I wasn't talking about that." Mephisto took a step forward, then turned his head to Malinda. "Are we ready to show Mommy what you can do, my dear?"

The little girl smiled up at her father and nodded.

† † †

"Can I please use your phone?" Johnny asked breathlessly, leaning on the counter and staring at another old man. This one, however, looked a bit more competent.

"Good Lord, son," Charlie exclaimed, "yer wife goin' inta labor?"

"What? No. No, I just need to use your phone. Please."

Charlie pointed to a relic hanging on the wall next to the defunct hot dog rotisserie. "Go right ahead. But no long distance calls."

Blaze was already making his way toward the phone, no longer listening to the man. It wasn't until he picked up the phone and hovered his finger over the numbers that he realized: he had no one to call. It was nine years passed now. Roxanne was probably married, living in suburbia somewhere with her two kids and charming husband. Mack was dead. Slade was gone. Team Blaze was now Team Missing Persons — he had nobody. Absolutely nobody.

All he had now, the only people who knew him, was Lilith and Blackheart.

Slowly Johnny hung up the phone and turned around. Charlie was staring at him worriedly. "Do you have a newspaper I could see?"

The old man nodded, reached under the counter and put a crisp newspaper in front of him. Blaze walked over, eying the paper like it was a venomous snake. He didn't touch it — just glanced down at the date printed in the corner. After a moment he shut his eyes and turned his head.

_Friday June 10, 2016_

"You okay, son?" Charlie asked concernedly.

"No," Johnny uttered. "No, I'm not okay. Nothing is okay."

"Well what's the matter? You sick or somethin'?"

Johnny put a hand on the counter to steady himself. "I have to get out of here. I need a ride. Car, bike, horse, I'd take a damned skateboard if it was the only thing left."

Charlie looked amused. "Well, I don't think I've got a skateboard, son, but I do got somethin' that might cheer ya up."

† † †

Charlie threw back the tarp covering the dusty black Softail Harley. Blaze saw that it had been modded a little, but the updates were now years old. It was scratched and dented and the back tire was completely flat. The leather seat was torn in spots and patched up with duct tape. There was rust on the metal parts, and Johnny's heart sank at the sight of such neglect.

"Nice bike," he lied. "What year?"

"2001, I think. My son got it when he graduated, and by the time he got hitched n' started havin' kids, he didn't have no use for it. Gave it to his old man. Don't think I've rode it but twice."

"It shows," Johnny nodded. "How much you want for it?"

Charlie laughed. "Shit. Thing's no good to me. Take it."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, it's hoggin' up my shed. I got better things to do with this space. She might need a little TLC, but if yer one a them bike-savvy types, she'll clean up real nice."

† † †

The sun was setting when Lilith woke. She stretched her aching body and checked on Blackheart, relieved to find that at last his flesh was beginning to warm. It would be a while before his wounds completely healed, and even longer before his powers returned. Until then, she would be his only defense against the forces hunting them down.

Combing his limp black hair off of his forehead, she pressed a gentle kiss to his brow and rose from the bed. She went to the window and drew back the heavy curtain. The sky was orange and pink and yellow, and the blue shadows of dusk were beginning to creep into the desert background. A clanking noise drew her eyes to the side of the parking lot, where Johnny was crouched down beside a beaten old motorcycle.

Lilith stepped out of the motel room and closed the door quietly behind her. She crossed her arms and walked to where Blaze was working, his jacket draped over the seat and every inch of skin from his elbows down covered in grease. "Looks like you found a bike," she murmured.

"If you can call it that," he replied, wiping his forehead and leaving a black streak. "Thing's so beat up I'll be amazed if it ever starts again. Charlie's kid torqued the shit out of it. Just look at this cylinder."

"I see you've gotten acquainted with some of the locals."

"Just one," Blaze muttered. "Lucky for me he had a bike he was looking to get rid of. I have no idea where I'm gonna get parts for this thing. The only place in town is a garage that orders on an as-needed basis. Unless we plan on spending six to eight weeks here, we're pretty screwed."

Lilith squatted down and placed a hand on Johnny's back. "Don't worry about this now. We'll manage somehow. Besides, you're exhausted and you've been out in the sun all day."

Johnny cast her a sidelong grin. "You know you're mothering me again."

"I know. I thought you'd be flattered."

"Well, it does feel good to know that somebody cares. Even if that somebody is the demon queen of Hell."

Lilith smiled. The evening breeze blew her dark hair into her eyes, and for once Johnny felt glad to see her. "Come on," she said, standing up. "You look like you could use a coffee."

"I could use a shower first," Blaze added, standing with a grunt.

"You might get one either way. There's a storm rolling in." Lilith nodded to the southwest.

Johnny looked in the same direction. "Looks clear to me."

"Trust me. A storm's coming. I'd make sure your bike was under something water-tight."

"Hm." He nodded. "Something un-holey."

He and Lilith shared a brief glance before the demoness broke into a round of very un-demonic giggles.

† † †

Johnny stepped out of the steaming bathroom with a towel around his waist. Lilith was nowhere to be seen. He glanced cautiously at the unmoving lump beneath the covers of the nearest bed. No signs of waking. Good. He dried off and disdainfully pulled on his dirty leather pants. It felt awful, but he didn't have any spare clothes. At least he'd gotten the stink of Hell off of his skin.

He sat half-dressed on the edge of the second bed and toweled the excess water from his hair, wondering if there was any way he could patch that back tire with a homemade kit. He looked up just in time to see the covers on the opposite bed stir, and before he could think to hide or run, Blackheart rolled over onto his side with a soft groan. Johnny froze, staring at the pale face, and a pair of blue eyes slowly opened.

For a while the two enemies stared wordlessly at one another, neither moving. Then Blackheart shut his eyes in defeat. "Kill me if you want, Ghost Rider," he muttered in a raw voice. "But I won't fight you."

"I'm not going to kill you," Blaze answered. "I _want_ to and I should, just to put you out of your misery, but I don't think I could face your mom if I did."

That seemed to get Blackheart's attention. "What?" he asked, sounding like a confused kid. Which he _was_, but Johnny tried not to think about that. "What did you say?"

"Your mother's here. She convinced me to take a little ride south and rescue you from Hell." He glared menacingly at the demon. "We both almost killed ourselves to get you outta there, so you better not die on us."

"My mother." Blackheart sat up, the covers falling around his bare waist. Johnny purposely looked away. "Is she hurt?"

"She's pretty banged up and her powers are gone, but she's fine."

There was a brief pause. Johnny stared at the blank TV in the corner, but could feel Blackheart's eyes on him. Then finally: "What about you?"

The question was so absurd that Blaze had to turn his head. "What do you care?" he said poisonously, and watched the demon's expression change from curiosity to fear. Perhaps he had forgotten that they were enemies. He seemed suddenly small and weak, not the arrogant young bastard Johnny had fought in San Venganza. What he saw sitting in that bed was a surprisingly slim young man who looked like he'd been dragged through Hell (and he had) and lost everything that was important to him. His black hair was disheveled and damp, falling across his forehead almost to his eyes, hiding that ugly scrape on his brow. Though his appearance was for the most part unchanged, he looked very humbled, and carried a new burden on his shoulders: consequence.

Johnny looked askance. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'm not used to this."

Blackheart said nothing; he laid down again pulled the covers over himself. Johnny watched him expectantly. After a while the demon said with quiet contempt, "You should have left me." He raised his eyes to Blaze. Despite their cool color, his gaze was hot with resentment. "I'd rather die than owe my life to a Ghost Rider."

_There_ was the Blackheart Johnny knew and despised: ungrateful, contrary and rotten to the core. He almost smiled at the recognition. "It's not as if either of us had a choice," Blaze replied, pulling on his shirt. "If it were up to me I'd have left you down there, but your dad's up to his old tricks again and your mom needs my help."

"Shut up," Blackheart moaned, grimacing and burying his head into the pillow. "Your voice is making me sick."

Johnny shook his head and pulled on his boots, his mind overflowing with all of the horrible things he'd love to say to the demon, but he found that he suddenly didn't care. Blackheart was a spoiled brat who had nothing important to say, and Johnny didn't need to lower himself by engaging in immature arguments. He stood from the bed and grabbed his jacket. "Get well soon," he wished, earning a glare from Blackheart. Blaze smiled in return and the demon pulled the covers over his head with disgust.

"Kill 'em with kindness," Johnny said to himself, stepping out of the door.

† † †

"What do you think, Malinda?" inquired Mephistopheles, guiding his daughter through the Eighth Circle. It was the girl's first visit to her father's domain, and she smiled at the frightening shadows of demons torturing the souls of the damned.

"I like it, Daddy," she said, grasping his hand. "Can I play with them, too?"

"In good time, my dear. We have some important things to talk about first. You're going to help Daddy take care of some business. Would you like that?"

The red-headed girl nodded. Mephisto smiled and led her on, downward and beyond, coming at last to the realm of ice. It was quiet here, empty and dark. Malinda released her father's hand to trot across the ice, giggling and sliding, playing on the frozen souls trapped beneath her small feet. Mephisto rested his hands on his cane and watched his daughter frolic. She won't disappoint me, he thought with pride and satisfaction. Already she's more ruthless and cunning than that failure I once called a son.

A dark mist swirled into being beside him, slowly materializing to form a cloaked young demon with white hair and red eyes. He wore black armor on his chest and shoulders, and carried a sword at his side. Though his appearance inspired terror, he seemed anxious and upset. Mephisto didn't need to turn to know who it was. "Belial. What news from the mortal world?"

"Many apologies, my lord," Belial said, bowing low, "but something has happened while you were away."

Mephisto turned to stare at the demon, who flinched at the penetrating gaze of his master.

"Blackheart has escaped."

"_What_?" he uttered, stepping forward threateningly.

Belial cringed. "He had help. The Ghost Rider freed him from the ice, and blinded the Beast when it pursued him. The Queen was an accomplice too, my lord. Our forces chased them down but we lost them at the River." He paused to see if Mephisto was going to strike him, but the demon lord stood with his fury silently contained. "I have every one of my Earth demons hunting them as we speak. They will be located and destroyed as-"

"No," Mephisto interrupted, turning to stare at Malinda in the distance. "No armies. No slaughter."

Belial looked stunned. "But my lord, they know your plans concerning the Child. They intend to interfere. We can't-"

"I think I can handle my own family, Belial. Alert me when you find them, but lay no finger upon them. My daughter and I will deal with them properly."

He gazed upward, his face contorting to show the evil lurking behind his mortal exterior. "Go to Earth, Belial. Find my wife and son. Do not fail me."

The demon bowed. "Yes, my lord." And he vanished in a black mist.

Mephisto stood in silence, drumming his fingers on the skull of his cane. Perhaps it was time that he called in a few favors from some old friends of his. . .


	6. Listen Closely

**﻿Listen Closely**

Dark clouds were building in the sky, and the occasional rumble and flash of lightning assured Blaze that Lilith had been right. He found her sitting at the bar in the diner, smoking a cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee. Johnny slid into the seat across from her. "Never seen a woman thrive on coffee and cigarettes," he said.

"Drugs are the best things humans ever created," she replied, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Caffeine and nicotine. It's all I need."

"I guess demons don't eat then, huh?"

"Not really. Human food makes us strange." She took a final drag from her cigarette before grinding it out in the ashtray.

A middle-aged woman came around and took Johnny's order. Before she could walk away Johnny leaned forward and asked, "'Scuse me, you don't happen to have any jellybeans, do you?"

Lilith snorted in an attempt to hide her giggles.

"No jellybeans," the waitress said. "But we do got some fresh blueberries n' strawberries. Use 'em for the pancakes."

Blaze nodded. "That'll be good"

"The blueberries or the strawberries, hon?"

"Both, please."

"You want 'em on the side or in somethin'?"

"Just on the side, thanks." He turned his head and found Lilith staring at him, hand resting on her cheek.

"You're an interesting man, Johnny Blaze," she said.

"Thanks. I get that a lot."

Thunder growled loudly outside, and Johnny couldn't help but notice the apprehension overtaking Lilith. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Something bothering you?"

She grinned fleetingly, a forced, nervous gesture. "I don't like thunder."

"Scared?"

"No." She grabbed a stray lighter sitting on the counter and lit another cigarette. "Bad memories."

Johnny watched her, thinking and yet not thinking. "It was the sound of falling, wasn't it?"

She turned to give him a wide-eyed look. "How do you know that?"

"What could scare a demon more than the wrath of God?"

Lilith nodded slowly. "Very good, Mr Blaze. You're starting to think like one of us. That's going to help you in the future."

"Yeah . . . the future." The waitress brought him a cup of coffee and he stirred in sugar and cream, listening to the wind pick up outside the diner. "So," he finally said, "when were you going to tell me about the time?"

"What time?"

"The time that passed while we were in Hell."

Lilith gave Blaze a guilty sidelong look. "If I were to tell you that for every hour spent in Hell, years would pass on Earth, would you have still saved my son?"

"Probably not," Johnny confessed, and immediately regretted it when he saw the hurt in her blue eyes. "But it doesn't make a difference. I saved your son and came back to find nine years have passed me by. But it I don't care. Time doesn't matter when you have no friends. Or when you possess a curse like the Ghost Rider's."

"Yeah, I thought you seemed to be taking the news a bit too well."

"I've already moved on," Blaze muttered, sipping his coffee. "Time doesn't stop, so I'm not going to waste more of it by crying about it."

Lilith watched him for a moment before laying her hand on his. "Of all the men I've known," she whispered, "human and demon alike, you're the only one who has ever done me any good. I'm grateful to know you, Johnny Blaze. If our worlds weren't at odds with one another, I would hope to one day call you a friend."

"So call me a friend now," Johnny replied, flashing an innocent smirk. "Besides, I'm part demon myself."

"But you've got a human heart." She tapped her finger to his shoulder. "And that changes everything."

"Maybe . . ."

Lightning cracked outside and the town lit up for a brief second. The buildings were black against the white-blue sky. A clap of thunder followed, rattling the windows. Lilith flinched. "I really hate that," she snapped.

"You and about half of humanity, sister," Johnny said. "I once knew a man who got struck by lightning halfway through a Motocross tryout. Knocked him off his bike and out of his boots. And then whenever he got around electronics they would start going haywire. Nobody wanted to live next door to this guy. Couldn't get any TV reception, cable or satellite. Just a bunch of garbled fuzz. He told me he'd rather have died by electrocution than to not be able to watch TV anymore."

Lilith smiled, listening to the humorous anecdote.

"So one day he went out on a golf course during a lightning storm with a six foot aluminum pole, and got lit up like a Christmas tree."

Lilith chuckled despite herself. "Did he live?"

"Oh yeah. Went on to get married, had a kid and everything."

"Don't tell me: he named his kid Sparky." Her cheeks were turning pink from her giggles.

Blaze smiled. "Nah. He named him Johnny."

Lilith abruptly stopped laughing, her face growing serious. "You mean . . . your father-?"

"Got struck by lightning on purpose. He told me later that's when he knew he was lucky. Twice struck by lightning and lived to tell about it. But best of all-" He grinned widely. "-the TV stopped messing up. Everyone lived happily ever after."

Lilith laughed and shook her head. When she finally calmed herself down again, she cast a grateful smile at Johnny. "I haven't laughed like that in ages. Thank you."

Blaze shrugged modestly. "Ah, well. It's not like I've got anyone else to tell anymore."

The demoness turned her head to stare out at the rain beginning to fall. "I hope our story has a happy ending," she said quietly.

Johnny looked down into his coffee, watching his own worried reflection. "Yeah. Me too."

† † †

Johnny knew it would probably be in his best interest if he got a decent night's sleep, but his mind was restless and his activities were limited, being stuck indoors with a torrential downpour flooding the parking lot outside. He and Lilith had had to make a run for it when they left the diner, Lilith holding Johnny's leather coat over her head and Johnny sprinting as fast as he could. By the time they'd made it to the eaves of the hotel, both were a little drenched.

Blackheart had been asleep when they'd entered, and Lilith tiptoed over to check on him. Finding him good condition, she slipped out of her shoes and curled up on the covers beside her son. Johnny hung his coat to dry and got as undressed as comfort would allow around two demons, and tried to go to sleep.

Outside the storm continued to rage, booming and shaking and pelting. Blaze heard Lilith whispering something that sounded like words of comfort, and it made his night when he considered that Blackheart —fearsome hellbrat of the Devil, bringer of death and mayhem — was probably scared shitless of thunder. Johnny had to cover his mouth to stifle his guffaws. Oh, it was almost worth saving him, just to see him like this. _Almost_ worth it.

† † †

Johnny's eyes opened sometime around 3:15 am and he sat up, suddenly wide awake. The storm was still doing its thing outside, though with less energy. The thunder seemed to have died down and only occasional flashes of light and pouring rain remained. He glanced over at the other bed and saw Lilith sleeping with her back to him, her dark hair cascading across the pillow. He stealthily slipped out from beneath the covers and went to the bathroom, getting a long drink of water. He returned to his bed but didn't feel like getting back into it, so he went to the window and cracked the blinds, gazed out at the stormy night.

Darkness. Blaze felt like he was lost in time, or some other world. This town was just a cardboard set, and all the people in it were actors. A decade ago he'd had a life, a career, and something like happiness. He'd had Mack and Roxanne, Team Blaze, the thrill of his job. Then the curse came full circle, no thanks to Blackheart's greedy ambitions, and Mephisto had turned Blaze into the Rider. Well, it would haunt him now and forever. Johnny may have defied the Devil and lived, but he continued to pay for it every day of his life.

He sighed heavily, watching the rain splash onto the pavement. A bolt of lightning illuminated the outside world for one second, and Johnny saw a figure standing in the rain. With a startled gasp he turned, noticing what he had failed to notice earlier: Lilith was alone.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, yanking on his pants and boots and quietly opening the door. The warm, humid air was overpowering, and Blaze squinted through the downpour, searching. Lightning arced across the sky, and he saw the pale, naked figure of Blackheart out in the middle of the parking lot, arms wide open and face turned toward the sky.

"Oh god_dammit_," Johnny growled, stepping out into the driving rain and jogging to the demon's side. "What the hell do you think you're doing out here, you asshole?!" he shouted angrily, already soaked to the bone. "You trying to drown yourself?"

He reached out and put a hand on Blackheart's shoulder, but immediately let go. The demon was feverishly hot, almost burning to the touch. Johnny walked around to face him. "Hey! Did you hear me? Snap out of it, stupid!"

Blaze caught his breath as Blackheart lowered his head; his expression was serene but confused, his black hair plastered to his head in shiny wet strands, making his skin seem paler than death. His eyes went on for miles, deep down into something that was infinite and inexplicable. But most astounding of all, his wounds — which Johnny swore were there that afternoon — had faded into light marks.

Blackheart blinked, and finally seemed to see the man in front of him. He furrowed his brow. "What are you doing here?"

"Building a bridge, Sherlock. What are _you_ doing here?"

"I . . ." Blackheart trailed off, looking dazed. "I wanted to hear the rain."

"Well I think you've heard it enough." He took the demon firmly by the arm and pulled. "Now come on, get back in the room before somebody sees your naked ass and calls the-"

"No, wait. It's saying something."

"What is?"

"The rain. It's . . . There's something coming."

Johnny rubbed a hand across his face in dismay. "The rain is talking to you. Perfect. A schizophrenic demon. That's just what I need at three o'clock in the-"

Blackheart resisted, pulling but not escaping Blaze's grip. "The Earth is recoiling. Its bane has risen and walks. The sky is fighting back."

"That's it. I'm taking you inside-"

"I can hear it screaming."

"Listen, hellboy-"

"Screaming a name-"

"I'm going to tell Lilith all about-"

Blackheart lifted his face to the sky. "What's the name? Who is it that walks here?"

"I swear to God if you don't-"

A deafening crack of thunder split the air above them, and in the brilliant blue light Blaze saw the demon cringe, his expression twisted with shock and horror. "N-no!" he stammered. "Not him!"

Johnny had had enough. He took Blackheart by the wrist and hauled him toward the motel. The demon went without complaint, seemingly numb with fear. The door shut behind them and they both stood in the dark room, dripping rainwater onto the carpet. Blaze pointed a finger at Blackheart. "You're more trouble than you're worth, kid."

But Blackheart wasn't listening. He backed up against the door and slid down with a squeak until he sat on the floor. He drew his knees to his chest in a defensive position, eyes staring blankly ahead. Johnny sighed in resignation and went to the bathroom. He came back with two towels, one which he threw at the demon, who made no move to catch it—the towel landed on his bare feet, and he looked up. Johnny stopped. Devastated was the only word to describe that face.

"We're all going to die," he said with a cracking voice. "They've sent him."

Johnny kneeled down and picked up the other towel. "Who sent who?"

"Hell. My father. He sent Belial."

"Who's that? C'mere." Johnny began to pat the excess rain off of the demon, though he didn't know why he cared.

"The ruling demon of the Earth," Blackheart said, too upset to notice the helpful gestures. "The lord of all evil spirits bound to this world. His power is great, almost as great as mine."

"And how do you know this? The rain told you?" Blaze rubbed the towel over the demon's hair until it stuck up in damp little spikes.

"You don't believe me," Blackheart stated, offended.

"No. No I don't."

"Ignorant humans," he scoffed. He seemed to be snapping out of his trance, returning to his old self again. "So blind and stupid."

"Yeah? Well I wasn't the one who took a little walk in El Niño wearing my birthday suit, now was I?" Blaze put a hand on Blackheart's cheek. "And what's the matter with you? You're burning up."

The demon slapped the hand away with a violated look of disgust. "Don't touch me!"

"Hey. Keep your voice down. You don't wanna wake your mom."

Blackheart scowled at Johnny like he was a vermin, but he didn't say anything further.

"Go to bed, brat," Blaze whispered, standing up and dropping the wet towel in Blackheart's lap. "And think about getting dressed sometime. I got you out of Hell, but I _ain't_ getting you outta jail."

† † †

Morning came at last, following a long and turbulent night. Johnny rose at first light and went outside. The dawn was grey and cloudy, but the rain had stopped and a warm wind was blowing in from the west. He uncovered the motorcycle, sitting on the front walk just outside the door, and got straight to work. Cars and trucks crawled past the motel, more than Johnny remembered seeing in town. Big rigs slowly began to fill the parking lot at the diner — apparently the weekend was when 'Here' saw any action, mostly from folks just passing through.

Later that morning Blaze saw Lilith emerge from the hotel room and saunter over to the diner, no doubt to feed her addictions. He tried not to feel concerned for her; she was the Queen of Hell after all, and could take care of herself. Still, nothing on Earth was more difficult to flee than a horny Texas truck driver who'd been on the road three straight weeks and was mad for pussy.

Johnny put down the wrench he'd borrowed from Charlie and reached for the Phillips head, trying to focus on the bike instead of the pretty woman walking straight into the lion's den. "She'll be fine, Blaze," he muttered to himself. "No sympathy for the Devil. Devil's wife. Ex-wife. Dammit-"

The screwdriver slipped in grease and three pieces of something went pinging onto the asphalt. Johnny rubbed his forehead. It was going to be a long day.

† † †

_Tulsa, OK  
11:18 am_

Fifteen year-old Jessie Odum was at home when the first tornado alarm sounded. She jumped up from the kitchen table and shouted to her brother, "Matt! The tornado siren's going off! Where's Priss?"

Matthew Odum, Jessie's twin, slid into the kitchen in a panic. Prissy, a black lab, was at his side, whining loudly. "Where's the tornado? Turn on the TV!"

Jessie grabbed Priss by the collar and led her down the hall. "Forget the stupid TV, Matt! Take Priss down to the basement and stay there!"

The boy kneeled down and held onto the dog. "What? Why? Jess, where are you going?"

"I've gotta find the sat phone! I'll try to call Mom and Dad at work!" she called over her shoulder, disappearing into the living room. The wind was beginning to howl outside. "Now get downstairs!"

"C'mon, Prissy," Matt said, opening the basement door and thumping down the stairs.

In the living room, Jessie ripped pillows off the couch and tossed newspapers from the coffee table, searching for the satellite phone, becoming more and more panicked as the sirens continued to blare. She finally found the phone buried in the cushion of her dad's recliner, and she wrenched it out with a frustrated cry. Just then she saw something out of the corner of her eye, through the large living room window. Her mouth fell open and the phone slipped from her hands, clattering to the floor.

In the wide expanse of wheat crop that stretched beyond their backyard, a white funnel swirled, strong and perfectly formed. Jessie had seen plenty of tornadoes before, being a native-born Oklahoman, but she'd never seen a twister like this. It had to be a half mile wide at the base, moving slowly toward the house like a pillar of death, taking its time.

It was hypnotizing, like watching a great white shark circle you in the water, staring at you with its black eyes and open mouth, almost smiling, knowing that you were already his. So deadly, but so beautiful. Otherworldly. Magical.

Jessie hardly noticed that she had stepped through the back door and onto the porch. The wind whipped her brown hair and slammed the screen door shut with a loud bang, but she didn't hear it. She went down the porch steps, walked onto the grass, and entered the field of wheat.

The tornado darkened and rumbled, almost growling, as it continued to weave toward the house, its movements like a swaying cobra. The wind howled in Jessie's ears, but all she heard was music. She stumbled forward, unblinking, enchanted.

Matt, drawn from the basement by his sister's absence, looked out the living room window and saw her walking toward the massive funnel. "JESSIE!" he screamed, and burst through the screen door. "JESSIE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? _JESSIE!_"

But she didn't hear him. The wind was singing to her, speaking to her, and when the hail began to beat down on her body she didn't even feel it. Soft caresses, she imagined, loving touches. Were her eyes tricking her, or did she see a man before her, walking in front of the twister like a master leading his dog? He was striking: white hair that danced around his handsome face, warm red eyes that seemed to glow with welcome. He was watching the girl, and he smiled when he saw her raise her arms toward him.

"As you wish," Belial murmured, his voice one with the snarl of the funnel, and he lifted his hands.

Matt could only watch with horror as the tornado descended upon his twin sister, swallowing her whole. She was gone. He stood numbly for a minute, unable to believe that he had seen his sister die. It was a movie. It wasn't happening. No.

Debris began to slam into the porch, the twister drawing even closer. With tears in his eyes, Matt stumbled back into the house and curled up on the floor, feeling as if half of him was already dead. And he could swear, as he lay there sobbing and shaking, that he heard the tornado laughing in its deep, ugly growl.

† † †

"Are you going to take a break or just work all day?"

Johnny looked up to see Lilith standing over him, arms crossed and smiling concernedly. He stood with a grunt and wiped his hands on the rag sticking out of his back pocket. "Well, considering that it just might take two straight weeks of nonstop repairing to get this girl back up and running, I was hoping I'd die first."

"Don't joke about that," Lilith insisted, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, you need to take it easy. You're not doing yourself — or Zarathos — any favors by keeping yourself exhausted all the time."

"I can't just sit around and do nothing. I have to do _ something_." They began to walk toward the motel.

"Well," said Lilith, "why not hang around the diner for a while? You might meet someone interesting, like I did."

Blaze arched an eyebrow. "Oh really? I hope you didn't give him too much trouble."

"Only a little," she said, crinkling her nose cutely. "But what I'm talking about is the possibility that you might come across someone who can help fix your bike, lend you some parts or something. I've seen quite a few trucks from motor companies pull through here. Maybe you should ask around."

"Sounds like a plan. I'm up for it. Let me wash this cack off my face first."

"I'll meet you at the diner in ten."

"Right. See you then." Johnny watched the sway of her hips as she walked away from him, and shook his head. "Don't even think about it," he told himself, and stepped inside the motel room.

Blackheart was pulling on a thin black rebel flag t-shirt that seemed about one size too small for him, standing in front of the dresser mirror. Appropriately, apocalyptically, the shirt read: _The South Will Rise Again!_ He was wearing a pair of stonewashed jeans with holes in the knees and stains on the hems, and black snakeskin cowboy boots. The whole ensemble looked ridiculous on someone who was usually seen in a silk vest and black coat right out of _ Dracula_.

Blackheart turned when he saw Blaze enter and gave him a warning glare, but said nothing. Johnny nodded. "So. That's what Lilith was up to." He grinned. "Nice outfit. Not bad for a redneck. But don't spike your hair up like that. It makes you look queer."

The demon narrowed his eyes hatefully. Johnny just chuckled and went past him, shutting the bathroom door. Blackheart looked at his reflection in the mirror and winced at the horridness of his human attire. He leaned forward, running a hand through his hair and making it stick up. He stared for a few seconds before he brushed it back down over his forehead. He blinked. Blaze had been right. Damn it.

The door to the bathroom opened a few minutes later and Johnny emerged, fresh-faced and grease-free, to find Blackheart standing in his way. "Ah. Your hair looks better." He paused. "What's the matter, Junior? Too good to talk to me now?"

"I just wanted you to know," he said, glaring at the taller man, "that just because my mother likes you doesn't mean I do. We're still enemies, you and I, and I hate you almost as much as my father."

"Why are you telling me this? 'Cause I already know and I still don't care."

Blackheart clenched his fists. "If you put one filthy mortal finger on her, I will kill you."

Blaze smiled. "That's sweet, kiddo. So protective of your mama."

The demon twitched angrily. "I mean it, Blaze."

"I know you do. Listen. Your mom may be beautiful, but I'm not looking to play Romeo anytime soon. Trust me, the thought of being your stepdaddy is something that could keep me awake every night for the next ten years."

Johnny walked past Blackheart, purposely bumping his shoulder against the demon's and making him step back to steady himself. "Where do you think you're going?" Blackheart demanded. "I'm not finished with you!"

Johnny turned around with a bored look. "If you wanna continue this conversation I'll be at the diner, with your mom, trying to find some way to get us the hell _out_ of this dump." He put his hand on the doorknob. "You're welcome to come if you're feeling up to it." He paused for a few seconds — there was no reply, so he opened the door and stepped outside.

† † †

They sat in the booth, scoping out the crowd that came and went and getting refills of coffee. Johnny was writing a list of all the parts he needed on a napkin and occasionally popping a blueberry into his mouth. They may not be jellybeans, but at least they were sweet. Lilith went back and forth between the booth and the bar, striking up conversations with the truckers in hopes that one of them might be able to help. The men were willing to tell her their social security numbers after four minutes, but none of them had anything to offer in the way of motorcycle parts.

Lilith was slumped in the booth with a cigarette, looking depressed, when suddenly she raised her eyes and grinned. It was like watching a veil lift up, and Johnny turned to see who had put that pretty smile on her face.

Blackheart stood beside their booth, looking very uncomfortable.

"Baby, you came to see us!" Lilith exclaimed, scooting over so that her son could sit beside her.

"Just you, Mother," Blackheart retorted, sliding into the booth and glaring at Blaze for a moment, then looking away. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm just fine. It's you who I'm worried about." She grasped his hand, the one with the ring. "Your fever has gone down since last night. You must be feeling better."

"A little."

Johnny tried to ignore their conversation, but it was far too interesting. He doodled on the napkin, pretending to be occupied.

"I didn't think you'd be walking again so soon. You were in horrible condition when Johnny brought you up."

Blackheart made a noise in the back of his throat, half growl and half gag.

"It's just amazing how quickly you've recovered. I was afraid you were going to be sleeping for days."

"I'm fine, Mother. Don't worry."

She smiled at him and stroked his cheek. "I'm just so glad you're alive. I almost lost you."

"Mother . . ." He trailed off, his attention wandering.

"Sweetie?"

Blackheart turned around, trying to find the source. A beaten old television was nestled into a corner of the diner, showing footage of tornado damage in Oklahoma. The animated reporter ran video clips of a deadly tornado tearing slowly across the countryside. "-believed to be an F5 category tornado on the Fujita scale, wreaking a path of destruction across northern parts of the state. Sources have confirmed over 90 deaths from this single storm system, and the numbers continue to rise as-"

"Oh shit," Blackheart murmured. "It's Belial."

Lilith turned and stared with terrified interest at the TV. She placed her hand on her son's shoulder and squeezed. "Are you sure, baby?"

"Yes," he answered softly. "I heard it in the rain last night."

Lilith turned to face Johnny. "We have to get out of her. Now."

"_Right_ now?" he asked.

"Very soon. Tonight if possible."

"Wh — but why?"

"Belial," Blackheart said smugly, leaning on the table. "Belial, the lord of all earthly demons, is coming for us, just like I told you. He's already on his way, and when he finds us we are doomed."

"What, the tornado? That's him?"

"We can't fight him," Lilith stammered. "Not when we're like this. He'd kill us all."

"He wouldn't kill us," Blackheart said. "He'd take us to Father and let _him_ deal with us."

Two pairs of identical blue eyes rested on Johnny Blaze, who lifted his pen from the heart-shaped doodles he was drawing. "God," he sighed heavily. "Look, _I_ don't know what to do."

"There has to be some way to get us out of here," Lilith said. "Think, Johnny."

Blaze sat back and rubbed his jaw meditatively. "We could bum a ride off a trucker. Steal a big rig. There's no way the bike could get all of us outta here, even if it was working."

"There has to be something else. Something we haven't thought of yet."

Johnny tried to think, tried to concentrate, and then he remembered Lilith's advice. Don't think. Just let it all flow in. Flow like water, soak in like rain. He stared right at Blackheart. "That's how you heard the rain," he murmured, suddenly understanding. "You didn't try to listen. You _felt_ it."

Blackheart gave Johnny a look that said he thought the human had lost his marbles.

"Never mind. Doesn't matter." Blaze heaved a sigh and closed his eyes, pictured himself walking down the main street that first day, and let the memory flow through him. _Feeling_. Hot sun, stay in the shadows. Glistening concrete sidewalk. Trash in the gutters. Gas station across the street. The rumble of-

He opened his eyes. "The train," he said. "The train passes through here."

"Where does it go?" Lilith asked.

"Hell if I know, but it's better than just sitting here and waiting for Balell to come and-"

"Belial," Blackheart and Lilith said in unison.

"-whatever, come and get us."

The two demons were silent. Johnny leaned on the table. "It's our only chance."

Mother and son looked at each other briefly, and when they turned to Blaze their minds were made up.

"Alright then. We leave by train tonight if we can. And let's hope it takes us away from this Belial guy instead of right to him."


	7. The Seventh Seal

**﻿The Seventh Seal**

Johnny set the box of tools he'd borrowed from Charlie on the counter. "Ah," said the old man with a smile. "Get 'er fixed up?"

"As fixed as she'll ever be," Blaze sighed. "Thanks for letting me borrow these. I 'preciate it."

"No problem, son." He turned his eyes to the woman and young man standing behind him. "They with you?"

"Uh. Yeah. This is-" Johnny turned to introduce the two demons. "-uh. This is Blackh-uh. At. Cor. Cory. Cory Black, my uh . . ."

Blackheart crossed his arms and waited.

"My nephew. _Girlfriend's _nephew."

"Ah." Charlie nodded hesitantly. "Then I guess this pretty lady's yer girl?"

"Yeah, this is Lil. Lily. And uh, you can call me John."

"Well, John, seems to me you folks're lookin' to hightail it outta here, am I right?"

"You could say that," Blackheart murmured, earning him a worried glance from Charlie.

"Speaking of which," Blaze said, "you don't happen to know when the train comes through, do you?"

"You don't mean to hop it, do ya?"

"We don't really have a choice."

"Well. If ya _gotta _. . . It comes about 1:20 pm durin' the week, and around three in the mornin' on Saturday. Usually stops at the mail depot 'bout a quarter mile down the main road. Package deliveries and things like that. She don't stop for long, so you gotta move fast."

"Won't be a problem. Haven't got much to move." Johnny grasped the old man's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Thanks for all your help, Charlie."

"No problem, son. You kids take care now. I hear we gotta storm movin' this-a-way, so keep yerselves safe."

"We'll try," Blaze muttered. "Believe me."

† † †

The late afternoon sun beat down on the town and steam rose from the pavement. Last night's rainfall had filled the air with humidity, and anyone with an ounce of common sense was indoors, waiting out the heat of the day. Blackheart, though certainly in better condition than yesterday, was still exhausted and frail from his trials in Hell. He was fast asleep now, lying on the disheveled covers of the bed in the motel room.

"Why didn't he say something?" Johnny whispered to Lilith. "I didn't know he was still so run down."

"He still thinks you're the enemy, Johnny," she replied. "He's not going to tell you about his weaknesses. He's stubborn like that."

"Well he needs to stop playing Mr Tough Guy and just act normal. It's making things difficult for all of us. We can't drag his sleepy ass around with us when we leave here."

"He'll be better soon. I'll talk to him when he wakes up. He won't be a burden on us, I promise."

Johnny was quiet for a moment, staring at Blackheart's sleeping form. The pale skin of his lower back peeked out between the hem of his shirt and the top of his jeans, both amusing and oddly human. Blaze found himself hoping that the kid would pull through and go back to his evil ways. He didn't like this helpless new version of Blackheart; he was far too easy to like. And his doting mother wasn't helping sustain Johnny's hatred for the demon one bit. He had to remind himself of Mack and Roxanne to keep the pity from taking over his heart. But even then it was hard to do, because Mack and Roxanne had vanished from his future forever, and Blackheart was now half of all the people left in his life. And when everything was back to normal, when this hellish ordeal was finally ended, Blackheart would be out of Johnny's life, too. Just like everyone else.

Blaze looked away, and was surprised to find himself wishing otherwise.

† † †

It was pitch black outside, the wind having picked up since sundown. The stars above were hidden from view by clouds, and if it weren't for the lamps along the railroad tracks every twenty yards or so, they would all be blind. Well, one-third of them at least. Blackheart and Lilith seemed to see fine in the night, and they watched the Western Pacific train engine come squealing to a slow, heavy halt.

"Okay, move!" Johnny hissed, and the three figures darted behind the last car, coming up around on the other side of the train to avoid notice. They ran along the length of the train, looking for a convenient place to stow themselves.

"Here, this one!" Lilith whispered.

The door to one of the boxcars was open slightly, and Johnny trotted his motorcycle over to it. "Okay, Cory," he muttered, "lower the plank."

Blackheart sneered at his new nickname but propped the wide wooden board he had been carrying onto the edge of the boxcar. Lilith did the same with the one she carried, and Blaze eased the bike up the makeshift ramp, the bike on one plank and himself on another. Once he got the thing safely inside, he propped it against some feed sacks and went to the door to help Lilith climb in.

The train whistle blew just as he grasped her hand. Slowly the train began to move, the boards clattering down. "Shit!" Johnny cursed. "Hold on, Lilith!"

"Damn it!" she muttered, trotting to keep up with the squealing, clunking boxcar.

"Take my hand, that's it." Blaze gasped her with both hands and pulled. "Watch your legs now _watch your legs_!"

Lilith scrambled, kicking her legs dangerously close to the wheels, then landed with a bang on the floor of the car. She let out a pain-filled yelp and rolled over onto her back. The train was really beginning to move now, and the whistle screamed loudly through the night.

"Mother!" Blackheart yelled, first jogging then running to keep up. "Wait! Stop this thing!"

"I can't, baby!" she cried, crawling over to the edge of the car. "Johnny, do something!"

Blaze hung onto the side of the door and reached out toward Blackheart. "Grab my arm! Hurry!"

Blackheart's hand touched Johnny's fingertips and slid away. The train was rumbling faster, and the demon was already falling behind, his fatigue overtaking him.

"Try again!" Johnny ordered through clenched teeth. "Come on, you can do it!"

Blackheart lunged but his grasp failed again, sweaty hands slipping against one another. He slowed a little, his shoulders slumping with defeat.

"Don't you give up, you son of a bitch!" Blaze screamed, hoping to incite him with insults. "Now grab my hand or I'll fuck your mother! _Come on!_"

The demon let out a challenging snarl and broke into a sprint, catching up once more. The train whistle howled as it continued to speed up.

"Come on, grab hold! Don't limp-wrist it, you pussy! GRAB ME LIKE A MAN!"

Blackheart screamed and threw himself forward, wrapping his fingers around Johnny's wrist. The man yanked for all he was worth, and one second later Blackheart came crashing down on top of him, slamming his nose right into Johnny's forehead.

Lilith shouted for joy as the two let out simultaneous groans of pain. Blackheart sat up, both hands clasped to his bleeding nose. "Fucking _hell_," he moaned, too caught up with his injury to notice he was sitting squarely on Johnny's hips. Blood seeped out from between his pale fingers, running down his knuckles in rivulets.

"Atrocor, what happened? Come here, let me see-"

Blackheart crawled off Blaze, who let out an "oof!" as the demon toed him in the ribs with those damned cowboy boots. Johnny sat up and put a hand to his forehead, which came away with a streak of Blackheart's blood on it. He wiped it on his shirt. That kid had a beak like the Rock of Gibraltar. Johnny was surprised it hadn't done more damage, hard as it was. He looked across the shadows of the rocking boxcar. Lilith was crouched beside her son, wiping the blood from his face. Blackheart looked more annoyed than injured, and resisted her fussing over him. "I'm fine, Mother. It'll stop soon."

"It had better," she huffed. "I can't have you becoming even weaker from blood loss."

"I'll be fine. Just leave it alone, it hurts when you touch it."

Blaze had to grin. A mother's worry seemed universal, and Blackheart was all too aware how ridiculous he looked: a grown demon being fussed over like a child. He at last escaped from her ministrations and retreated to a dark corner of the boxcar to sulk.

Johnny let out a grateful sigh and took off his leather jacket. The breeze blowing in from the door was cool and pleasant, and he folded his jacket against some feed sacks and settled against them comfortably. His body was sore all over from his adventures for the past two days, and his hand still tingled where he had wiped away Blackheart's blood. He hated the feeling of it on his skin, as if it were laced with poisoned chemicals and evil or some other thing that can't be good for you.

But Blaze thought, _Fuck it. I'll probably be covered with his blood before this thing is over._

He threaded his fingers together over his belly and closed his eyes, falling asleep to the clacking of the wheels and the rumble of the car.

In the shadows across the way, Blackheart's nose finally stopped bleeding; he wiped the last streak of it on his forearm, and looked down to see every exposed inch of his skin smeared with red. He frowned, twisting the silver ring off of his pinky and cleaning it with the bottom of his shirt. He spat on it to make it shine, rubbed it some more, and slid it back on.

Lilith watched her son in the dark, a faint smile on her lips. After a few moments she crawled over to where he sat. "I'm sorry for coddling you," she apologized. "I've always been guilty of that."

Blackheart turned to look at her, and a rare smile — a true smile exuding kindness and compassion — curved his mouth, making him suddenly look handsome and mature. "Don't be sorry. I actually kind of miss it."

Lilith turned her gaze to her lap, not wanting her son to see the sorrow in her eyes. "Why did you challenge your father, Atrocor? You knew it would only make him angry."

"I had to," Blackheart answered, grasping his mother's hand. "I needed the power of San Venganza. How else could I get you back?"

"I was a lost cause, you know that."

"You were only banished. I could have restored your power in Hell and overthrown Father."

"You should have forgotten me," she whispered, unable to dam the tears in her eyes; they spilled over her white cheeks. "You would have never faced Mephisto's wrath if you had forgotten me."

"It was a risk I was willing to take." Blackheart smiled through the darkness. "I love you, Mother."

Lilith shook her head. "Don't say that, Atrocor. You know it's impossible."

"Why? Because we're demons?"

"You know why. Whatever we think we feel is just a twisted form of the real thing."

"So what is _real love_?" Blackheart demanded.

Lilith reached out and cupped her son's cheek. "Oh baby," she sniffed. "It's what I felt when you first opened your eyes."

† † †

Malinda watched her father speak to a group of five demons, each one approaching his throne in succession with an item wrapped in white cloth. Beside her the Beast lay its crocodilian head, snorting loudly as it breathed, nostrils flaring. Its eyes had become swollen and infected, permanently blinded from the wretched mortal sand that had been thrown into them. The little girl stroked its rough reptilian hide with her small hand, and listened to the words of the demons:

"We bring five of the Seven Seals, my lord," said one, bowing low before Mephistopheles.

"Only five?" came the reply, and Mephisto stared down at his servants with disapproval. "I asked for seven. Where are the rest?"

"We tried valiantly to find all of them, sire," said the demon. "The Heavenly Host has hidden them well, and each seal is guarded by an angel of high order. Many of our forces were destroyed trying to obtain these treasures. That you should receive five instead of fewer is testimony to our perseverance."

Mephisto glared. "Very well. What seals were you able to retrieve?"

The demons one by one lay their parcels at the foot of the throne. "We have taken the Crown of Mercy, my lord, and the Mirror of Wisdom, the Goblet of Benevolence, the Scales of Justice, and the Shield of Faith. And the Sword of Valor is being delivered as we speak."

"And what of the Circle of Fidelity?"

The demons glanced at one another nervously before their leader spoke: "We cannot find it. Not even the angels we defeated knew of its whereabouts, and we tortured them unto death to get their confessions."

"Then look for it," Mephisto snapped, rising from his throne. "Search the Earth. Kill all who stand in your way, and leave no trace. If the Host discovers our plans to bring forth the Apocalypse, they _will_ fight back." He smiled coldly. "And I can't have them distracting my daughter from her work." He turned to regard Malinda, and the demons bowed low before her when the realized who she was.

"Forgive us, my lord. We didn't know the Child was present. She seems quite young — is she powerful enough to challenge the Host?"

Mephisto smiled at his daughter. "Show them your power, my dear."

Malinda nodded and stood, brushing the wrinkles from her skirt in a very childlike way. But then she went rigid and still, and she stretched her hand before her. There came a deafening crack, like thunder striking directly overhead, and a jagged vein tore across the ice, splitting into two cracks, then four, then eight. The demons cowered in fear as great pillars of black ice rose up from beneath, bringing with them the screaming souls of traitors forever damned. The dragon rose up behind the little girl and spread its black, horn-studded wings wide. The entire realm began to quake, and echoes of screams from the Circles above were heard.

"I think that's enough, Malinda. Thank you."

Abruptly the shaking stopped, and the stalagmites of ice began to retreat into the floor once more, taking their prisoners with them. The beast settled down onto all four legs and purred hideously as the girl began to pet its snout.

Mephisto turned to give the trembling demons a smug look. "I believe that answers your question."

"Y-yes, my lord. We shall seek out the Circle at once."

"Don't forget our plans for the Sword," he warned, clutching his cane with both hands. "My daughter will need a strong blade to slaughter the Archangels."

† † †

Something woke Blackheart; his eyes opened with a start and he couldn't remember where he was for a moment. It was shadowy all around, except for the dark blue sky just beyond the open door of the boxcar. A silhouette sat on the edge, legs dangling over the side. It was Blaze.

Blackheart crossed his arms over his rebel flag shirt, now spattered with dried blood, and tried to go back to sleep. He was restless, however, and his feet hurt. He sat up and wrenched off the hard, pointy boots.

"You should get a medal."

Blackheart looked up. Johnny had spoken. "Why?" he asked.

"For running to catch a train . . . in cowboy boots." He turned to give the demon a lighthearted smirk. "How's your nose?"

"Fine," Blackheart muttered, mirroring the sly expression. "How's your forehead?"

"I think you gave me a concussion."

"It's not my fault your tiny brain had all that room to bounce around."

"And it's entirely my fault that I didn't leave your ass behind. Boy'm I sorry." Johnny winked so fast that Blackheart almost didn't catch it — a sign that the comment wasn't truly hostile.

The young demon decided that sleep was an impossibility now and crawled over to sit on the edge of the car. He watched the dark blur of dirt and weeds pass swiftly between his socks. Beyond the immediate ground a wasteland of desert and low mountains rolled slowly by. And beyond that, the stars twinkled, unmoving. Beside him, Blaze was eating something that looked like marbles. "What's that?" he asked.

"Blueberries," Johnny answered, and held out the plastic bag toward him. "Got 'em from the diner before we left. Want some?"

Blackheart wrinkled his nose. "What do they taste like?"

"Blueberries, genius. If they tasted like dogshit they'd be called dogshit."

"Don't snap at me, bonehead."

"You want some or not?"

"Yeah."

"Well then shut your trap and get some already."

Blackheart hesitantly reached into the bag and drew out a plump berry. He studied it for a moment before putting it in his mouth. Blaze watched him out of the corner of his eye. He chewed twice and then stopped. His eyes began watering. Johnny turned to look at him, and for one terrible second he thought Blackheart was going to projectile vomit pea soup like that crazy scene from _The Exorcist_.

But he didn't throw up; his eyes brimmed full with tears that suddenly tumbled down his pale cheeks, and a true, genuine smile fought and struggled its way onto his lips. He chewed a few more times, savoring the sweet tartness, and swallowed. He licked his lips and then looked at Blaze, who said nothing and remained still.

"They're good," Blackheart whispered, blinking rapidly. He cracked a full grin. "They're really good."

Johnny smiled and held out the bag again.

† † †

Metal squealed on metal as the train ground to a halt. Johnny woke up before they had stopped moving. Sunlight streamed in through the door. Beyond it he saw a train yard with its rows of connected cars and flatbeds, crisscrossing tracks and gravel, and in the distance tall buildings stood out against a red sky with grey clouds. He rubbed his eyes, feeling that he knew this skyline.

Across the car Lilith rose and blinked sleepily. "Where are we?" she murmured, stretching her arms above her head.

"I could be wrong, but it looks like Phoenix," Blaze answered, standing up and brushing himself off. "Finally. Some good news." He went to the bike and took it by the handlebars. "We better get off before anyone sees us. Might be a good time to wake up the Kiddo."

Lilith rolled over and shook her son's shoulder gently. "Wake up, sweetie. It's time to get moving."

Blackheart grumbled exactly like a surly teenager being woken for school on Monday morning, but he eventually listened to his mother. He sat up blearily and pulled on his boots.

"I'm gonna need help getting this scrap heap outta here," Blaze said, maneuvering his bike to the door. "Give me a hand, Blackheart."

The demon stood outside and helped Johnny ease the motorcycle onto the ground. It landed with a heavy thunk, and something loose rattled in it, but it remained intact. A few minutes later the trio headed out of the train yard, toward the bustling metropolis.

They had no idea that they were being watched from a nearby rooftop. And then, with the passing wind, the dark figure had vanished.

† † †

"She's pretty beat up," the mechanic confirmed, wiping his greasy hands on his coveralls.

"I know," Blaze said, trying not to be short with the man. "I just need an estimate."

The fat little man who looked an awful lot like a toad pursed his lips, staring at Johnny's bike. "New cylinder, new rear wheel, new brake pads and discs, new tank, new friction plate for the clutch, full oil and lube, back tire replacement . . . Yer lookin' at about six to nine hundred."

Johnny turned with a grim face to Lilith. "I've got seven bucks. Any ideas?"

"Let me talk to him," she said, an eerie spark burning in her eyes as she looked over Blaze's shoulder at the chubby mechanic, who smiled bashfully. "I'll see if we can work out a deal."

"Lilith," Johnny said warningly.

"I'm not going to kill him," she whispered chidingly. "We need him to fix the bike, after all. Give me fifteen minutes." She smiled broadly and pushed past Blaze, approaching the toady man. "Randy," she said, reading his nametag, "I'm Lily Black. This bike belonged to my father, may he rest in peace, and we came all the way from Texas . . ." Her voice faded as she and Randy disappeared into the noisy garage.

Blackheart stepped to Johnny's side. "I hate it when she does that," he muttered, hands in his pockets.

"She's pretty good at convincing men to do stupid things," Blaze replied, giving Blackheart a smirk. "She got me to go to Hell, after all."

The demon arched his eyebrow at Johnny and let out a single chuckle. "She likes taking advantage of morons."

"Ouch. Your wit cuts me like a saber, Blackheart."

"You should see me when I'm actually _trying_. I'm deadly."

"You talk a big game, kiddo. I think you did that right before I kicked your ass in San Venganza."

"You got lucky," Blackheart muttered, his shame emerging.

"I'm not lucky."

"Then what do you call it?"

"Reckless endangerment. Complete disregard for self-preservation."

"Big words, Blaze."

"I read."

They wandered out of the garage and stared at the bright Arizona morning. Blackheart grimaced and shielded his eyes. "You got any more of those blueberries?"

"No." Blaze paused. "Why, do you like 'em?"

"Yeah. Mortal food never really did it for me, but _those_ things . . ." Blackheart trailed off, watching a man — who he didn't remember seeing there a moment ago — approach from across the street, carrying something wrapped tightly in a white cloth. "Heads up, Blaze," he breathed. "Something's not right."

The man stopped on the sidewalk in front of Johnny and Blackheart. He was young, mid-thirties, and his skin was a deep bronze. His goatee was short, neatly trimmed, and his brown hair was tied behind his head in a ponytail. He wore a strange suit: loose-fitting pants and a white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, with a vest that seemed foreign. He looked from Blackheart to Blaze before settling his piercing gaze upon the former.

"_Atrocor daemon_," the stranger addressed, "_princeps Haides_?"

Blackheart straightened, his face pale with worry. "_Etiam, sum_," he answered in Latin. "I am he. Who are you?"

The man stood back and pulled the cloth from the object he was carrying. A long, gleaming sword emerged, blade catching the light of the sun and blinding both Johnny and Blackheart. Reflections danced off of the brick buildings nearby, and time seemed to cease passing.

"I am the Angel Rizfadael," the stranger stated, taking a menacing step forward. Man and demon recoiled in awe as a pair of brilliant white wings unfolded from the angel's back. "And I have come to deliver Death."

Something painful shot through Johnny's arm, and when he looked down he saw that Blackheart was holding onto it with both hands. The demon was wide-eyed, legs shaking and utterly terrified. "No," he stammered. "Please, mercy!"

With fluid movements the angel sank down upon one knee and bowed his head, holding the sword horizontally as an offering to the demon.

Blackheart's grip loosened on Blaze's arm. "What is this?" he demanded. "Some kind of trick?"

"The Host is aware of the situation that faces you," Rizfadael said, lifting his head. "We are prepared to ally with you to halt the untimely Armageddon."

"Halt it? You mean it's already begun?"

"Yes. Your father has seeded a mortal's womb with his offspring, and the Child is now poised to overthrow the mortal world."

"Oh _fuck_," Johnny moaned. "We're too late."

Rizfadael stared at Blackheart. "Take the Sword of Valor, Atrocor."

The demon shook his head. "I have no powers to wield it. I'm not a holy being."

"You may be fallen, but still you are an angel. Take the Sword, Atrocor, and guard it well. Mephistopheles already possesses six of the Seven Seals, and with each seal the Child grows stronger."

Blackheart slowly reached out with both hands and lifted the heavy sword, then held it by its golden hilt. He still looked frightened and confused. "It's impossible," he said as Rizfadael stood to his feet. "I'm trying to escape from my father's forces. Belial himself is after us."

"Now you have something with which to fight him," the angel said sharply. "The Host cannot yet help you — we have larger matters to attend to. All you must do is stay alive, Atrocor, and do not let the Sword fall into the wrong hands. You will have Heaven's allegiance in the end." His wings folded behind his back and disappeared, and time seemed to resume its normal pace.

"What's in it for me?" Blackheart asked, narrowing his eyes doubtfully. "What if I _don't_ agree to keep the Sword?"

Rizfadael grinned thinly. "I am sure you and your mother would enjoy an eternity in the Lake of Fire."

"Nice try," the demon snapped, "but I've already been to Hell."

The angel continued to smile ruthlessly. "True . . . But who do you think shall rule it when your father is overthrown?"

Blackheart shut his mouth and swallowed dryly.

"You will speak of this meeting to no one," Rizfadael warned, beginning to fade into a thin mist. "Stay alive, Atrocor. You _and_ your fiery friend." And then he was gone.

Johnny turned to stare at Blackheart with numb disbelief. "What just happened?"

"We were visited by an angel," the demon murmured, admiring the sword he held. "I never thought . . ."

Blaze crouched down and put his hands over his face, strung out to the max, and it wasn't even 10:00 yet. "God I need some jellybeans."

Blackheart lowered himself onto the sidewalk and cradled the sword on his legs. "I could use some blueberries myself."

Johnny reached out and put a hand on Blackheart's shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. "You're gonna be the death of me, kiddo. One way or another."

† † †

Malinda was in the middle of her training, pitted against four gruesome-looking arch-demons, armed with spears and shields. With speed and inhuman agility, the little girl, armed with nothing, avoided their attacks and delivered deadly blows from her tiny hands, sometimes in the form of physical strikes, sometimes with rippling waves of energy. Skulls cracked. Bones broke. Black blood spilled across the floor. Mephisto was watching with amusement when a pale mist materialized beside him.

"Were you successful, Rizfadael?" he asked, not taking his eyes from the sparring.

"Yes, my lord," the traitorous angel replied. "They were easy enough to find."

"And Belial's forces?"

"They are searching for the Seventh Seal now, as you ordered."

"Good. And Belial?"

"He will come upon them within a day. He knows nothing of the Sword, or the deception."

"Hmm." Mephisto murmured to himself. "Tell me, Rizfadael, do you think Blackheart is capable of killing Belial?"

"He seemed weak and mortal, my lord, but with the Sword he should succeed. I believe he has befriended the Ghost Rider, so he has an ally."

"Splendid. It ought to be a fine show."

The last demon fell defeated, and Malinda gave a girlish curtsy toward her father.

Mephisto smiled and applauded. "Excellent, my dear! Very admirable."

She smiled and stepped over the mutilated bodies, skipping off to play with her new pet.

Mephisto leaned close to the angel and muttered, "Are they aware that I have only five of the seals?"

"No, sire. I told them you had six, as you asked."

"Good. Then they'll have no reason to look for the seventh." He smiled evilly. "Things are going well, don't you think? Belial will be destroyed by Blackheart, omitting him from the ranks of my most powerful, and Malinda will take his place. Heaven knows nothing of the impending Apocalypse, and my foolish son has fallen directly into my trap. When he has served his purpose I will destroy him myself." He paused. "Or perhaps it would be more appropriate to pit brother against sister . . ."

He trailed off, his sentence ending with a peal of sadistic laughter.


	8. Blind Faith

**﻿Blind Faith**

Lilith stepped out of the garage with a satisfied bounce in her step. "Good news, Johnny," she purred, approaching the two figures seated on the sidewalk. "I was able to talk Randy into a net-90 term without interest, so it'll be about two hours before the — _holy shit!_" She stopped dead in her tracks when she laid eyes on the shining sword in her son's lap. "Where did you get that, Atrocor?" she demanded in a panicky voice. "Put it down! That thing could-"

"Mother," Blackheart interrupted, "you're not going to believe this, but . . ."

Lilith stood still and listened to her son's account of the helpful angel Rizfadael coming to deliver both a powerful weapon and a powerful message. "Heaven is on our side," he explained eagerly, himself hardly believing it. "They can't do anything to stop Belial yet, but now at least we have a fighting chance."

Lilith ran a hand through her dark hair, looking as worried and stressed out as Johnny. "I'd rather not have to ever take that chance," she muttered. "And there's something about that angel that sounds suspicious."

"Mother, this is _the_ sword," Blackheart countered impatiently. "Why would an angel willingly give one of the Seven Seals to the Prince of Hell is he didn't truly believe in us?"

"I don't know. But don't be so quick to trust, Atrocor. The world is full of traitors."

Blackheart shook his head. "You're so paranoid."

"I'm a mother. I've got a right to be paranoid. Now come on, we've got to get that thing out of sight. You can't just walk around Phoenix, Arizona with the Sword of Valor."

"What about the bike?" Johnny asked, standing up.

"It'll be ready in about two hours. Until then, I suggest we find a place to rest and rethink our strategy. If that bastard already has the Child and six of the Seals, then we don't have much time."

† † †

Thanks to Lilith's extraordinary ability to charm mortals with her pretty face and even prettier lies, the three renegades found themselves comfortably roomed on the eight floor of a hotel not far from Randy's Bike Shop. Lilith had left almost as soon as they arrived, saying that she needed to "pick up a few necessities" and that she'd be back in a few hours. She seemed to know what she was doing, so Blaze said, "Have fun," and Blackheart told her to be careful. She'd winked at them both and wiggled her fingers goodbye, leaving the two alone in the room.

Johnny laid his leather jacket on one of the beds and carefully unwrapped the sword hidden within it. He stood back to study it. Truly it looked like something an angel would wield in battle, right down to the ornate designs on the golden hilt to the silver etching on the pommel. The steel was flawless; it didn't even have any smudges or fingerprints. "So this is the Sword of Valor?" he asked.

"Yeah," Blackheart answered, stepping beside Blaze. "And it's one of the Seven Seals."

"What are those?"

"Heavenly artifacts from the first war."

"You mean the war in Heaven, where your dad got thrown out?"

"Yeah. That war." Blackheart stared at the sword, recalling the story Lilith had told him as a child. "These treasures are sacred, and whoever possesses all seven has the strength to challenge God Himself. The Seals unlock an absolute power, a power no being was meant to hold alone, so they were hidden in the mortal world until the day that the Almighty would call them to use once more."

"When the Apocalypse happens, right?"

"Right. These artifacts were separated and guarded by fearsome angels, to keep them safe from demons and misguided angels who desired great power. Three Seals represent the Holy Trinity: the Crown, the Sword, and the Shield. The other four, the Scales, the Goblet, the Mirror and the Circle, represent four cardinal virtues: justice, generosity, wisdom . . . and love."

Johnny frowned. "What could your dad want with those?"

"He'd pervert them," Blackheart muttered. "For every virtue there is a vice, and in the hands of the Devil the holy seals would become icons of sin and destruction. The Crown of Wrath, the Sword of Vengeance, the Shield of Deception. If Mephisto ever gets his hands on all Seven Seals, he'll have the power to bring Hell upon Earth, and challenge the kingdom of Heaven." He turned to give Blaze a sober look. "He means to reclaim his place in Paradise, and to do that he must lay siege to Heaven."

"Wait. He could _do_ that?"

"With the Seals, his power would be like unto God's. And if he catches Heaven off guard, he might just get his wish. If that happens, we're all seriously fucked."

Silence fell. Johnny and Blackheart gazed down at the Sword of Valor. Finally, Blaze said, "We better hide this thing."

"Hide it where? All of Hell is after us, numbskull. We can't just _hide_ it."

"Then it looks like you'll have to keep your eye on it until Heaven can get their asses in gear."

"What do you think I was planning to do with it, Johnny? Put it up for rent? Of course I'm going to keep an eye on it."

"How are your powers?"

"What?"

"Your powers. Have they started to come back?"

"I don't know. I haven't tried killing anything yet."

Blaze sighed heavily. "Then I suggest you start trying, _not_ on people. I'll do the same. I don't want to get ambushed by Belial when he comes to drag you away, and I sure as hell don't want your dad getting that sword and becoming Super Satan."

Blackheart's eyes widened. "You mean you're going to help me?"

Johnny put a hand to his forehead in a gesture of fatigue. "What do you think I've been doing this whole time, brilliance? Sticking around just because I _like_ you?"

The demon said nothing. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other with an uncertain expression, and if Blaze didn't know any better he'd say the kid was hurt by what he'd said.

"Never mind," Johnny mumbled. "Look. I'm tired and really stressed out-"

"You don't have to apologize."

"I'm not apologizing."

"Sure sounds like it to me."

"Do you _want_ me to apologize to you?"

"I just said I didn't."

"Then why are we still talking about this?"

They both went quiet, staring at each other expectantly. It was strange, Johnny thought as he gazed into the demon's blue eyes. He seemed less pale than usual, like his blood was beginning to warm beneath that demonic skin of his. Blaze found himself wondering what Blackheart looked like before he fell. He bet that those eyes hadn't changed one bit.

He sighed and took a seat on the edge of the bed, beside the sword. "Look," he murmured softly, "we need to come to some sort of agreement. We've gotta be on the same side — you, me, your mom — 'cause when Mephisto starts throwing everything he's got at us, we need to be rock solid. I wouldn't rule out him trying to make us turn on each other, either."

Blackheart slowly sat on the bed across from Johnny, listening intently.

Johnny raised his head. "I need to know that I can trust you, Blackheart. I've got no reason to, and you've got no reason to trust me. There's nothing you can offer me and nothing I can offer you to make either of us feel any better about this, so we're both going to have to go on blind faith. I've put myself in risky situations before, but trusting a dirt bike to land without fishtailing is a whole lot different from trusting the son of the Devil." He paused to draw in a slow breath. "I want your trust, Blackheart. I want your faith. Give me something to believe in, and I'll do the same for you."

The demon was silent, staring at the floor, picking absently at the frayed knee of his jeans. He raised his eyes to Blaze. "Okay, Johnny," he said finally. "I'll give you something to believe." He extended his hand, and Johnny reached out to clasp it tightly. Blackheart's hand was unusually cold, yet Blaze's seemed to grow warmer as they both tightened their grip and fortified their resolve.

"On my mother's life," Blackheart said lowly, looking Johnny in the eye, "you have my unwavering loyalty."

The man smiled grimly, and the demon smiled back. But when they released each other's hands, there came a crack of ice, and flakes of snowy crystals fell to the carpet. Blackheart furrowed his brow in confusion, flexing his hand.

"Condensation," Blaze said, examining his own ruddy hand. "That's what happens when hot and cold combine."

"Interesting," Blackheart murmured. "I thought maybe Hell was freezing over."

Johnny couldn't keep himself from grinning. "Bet your dad never thought we'd end up allies."

"_I_ didn't think we'd end up allies."

"Well let's make sure we keep him guessing. C'mon, I think you're starting to get your mojo back. Let's go see if I'm right."

† † †

_A young teen sat in silence, his hands pressed tightly to his ears as he attempted to block out the sounds of the heated argument. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, tried to imagine he was in a rolling green field, surrounded by butterflies of every shape and color. But still the voices pierced through his sheltering hands, shattering the bright fantasy with its darkness._

_"Remember that he is also_ my _son, and his status as Prince of Hell demands that he assume more power."_

_"But he has not yet taken his first mortal soul! How can you expect him to take a hundred?"_

_"Because he has viciousness and cunning, traits which you have continuously failed to see."_

_"Failed to see because they don't exist in him! No, I cannot condone this, Mephisto. He is still too young."_

_"The boy is more than ready. How much longer will you decide to wait? Until he has grown into a sniveling weakling?"_

_"It will destroy him!"_

_"It will_ strengthen _him. Am I to understand that you would rather shelter and spoil him all his life than allow him his freedom?"_

_"There is a huge difference between freedom and what you mean to do, Mephisto."_

_"I mean to teach and empower him, Lilith, not wreck him. I would not risk his destruction — he is too valuable to me."_

_"Valuable,_ ha_. You value him as a weapon and nothing more-"_

_Blackheart winced as he heard the strike of a hand against flesh, and his mother was silent._

_"Too long have I sat idly by and watched you soften our son," he heard his father snarl. "Your dominion over Atrocor has ended this day, and now_ I _will look after him."_

_"Mephisto-"_

_"Guards, remove my wife from my sight. Take her to Tartarus. That should give her plenty of time to think about her impudence."_

_Blackheart bit his lip as he watched his mother be escorted from the throne room, wishing he could help her but he was too frightened to act. His father called him over and he obeyed, feeling Mephisto's heavy hand upon his shoulder. "Don't worry, my son," he murmured. "It is better this way."_

_The boy, old enough to understand what was happening but too young to realize the gravity of it, clenched his fists and nodded in agreement. "Yes, Father."_

_He would be a grown prince before he saw his mother again. Time would harden him into a ruthless and bitter demon whose powers were greater than the scope of his own awareness. He would remain scarred by the absence of his mother and forever resent the father who took her away. But his fear of Mephisto kept him obedient, and it wasn't until he learned of the contract of San Venganza that he was able to summon the courage to defy the being he hated so much. . ._

† † †

It was hot out on the roof of the hotel. Johnny's boots crunched over bituminous pieces of gravel as he squinted his eyes at Blackheart. "Let's try it without the sword first."

Blackheart carefully propped the blade against a ventilation shaft and turned to Blaze. "Should we warm up a little, or just get right to the fun part?"

"I was never one for foreplay," Blaze snickered, rubbing his hands together, turning them bright red. "Too much work."

The demon leered. "But hard work pays off," he quipped playfully. "It would make me more comfortable if we started out slow."

Johnny shook his head, still grinning. "You're as bad as your mom."

"I learned it from the best," Blackheart replied, striding over to stand smugly in front of Blaze. "It's a good skill to have."

"Let's see if your others are any good." And without warning Johnny let fly a right hook. Blackheart leaned back, narrowly avoiding the fist aimed at his face. That seemed to shake him up a bit, but it made him more alert. He swung a backhand at Blaze and it struck his forearm in a perfect block, but he was too slow to protect his vulnerable middle.

Johnny's fist contacted with Blackheart's stomach and the demon sucked in a gasp of air, the wind rushing out of him. "You okay?" Johnny asked. "I tried not to hit you too hard. Foreplay, you know."

"I'm fine," Blackheart insisted, but he kept his arm folded tightly over his belly, waiting for the pain to recede. "Just wait until you see what _I_ do to you." He lunged forward with inhuman speed, and socked Blaze right in the temple. The man stumbled back a few feet but shook it off easily.

"Good, good!" he growled encouragingly. "That's more like it. I felt some power behind that one."

"Really?" Blackheart asked brightly.

"Yeah." Johnny lashed out with his boot and kicked the demon right in the knee.

"OW!"

"But don't let your guard down every time you do something right."

"Don't _you_ underestimate a demon in cowboy boots."

Blaze was mid-chuckle when the pointy heel of a black snakeskin boot struck him squarely in the chest, causing him to fall flat on his back. Blackheart nodded with satisfaction. "How did _that_ feel, sucker?"

"That's it," Blaze wheezed, crawling up. "You're going down, hellbrat."

Blackheart smiled widely in challenge, and Johnny threw himself forward.

For the next hour they sparred against one another under the hot Arizona sun, exchanging equal blows and receiving equal hits, growing steadily more complex in their assaults. And then, just as they were beginning to tire from heat and physical strain, Blackheart caught a punch aimed at his face and held it in a vice-like grip; Johnny's eyes widened when he saw the flesh of his hand begin to darken into a deadly blue. With a scream that was half pain half panic, he focused every fiber of his soul on the touch that was killing him, and flames shot out from between Blackheart's fingers. The demon yelped and released, shaking his burnt hand frantically.

Blaze slumped down on his rear, and the flames billowing from his right hand went out. "Jesus, kid," he panted, sweat pouring down his face, "you scared the shit out of me."

"Not as bad as you scared _me_," Blackheart muttered. "You summoned Zarathos."

"Only 'cause you were killing me with that Touch of Death thing you do. How do you do that anyway?"

"Nothing to it," the demon said. "I poison the life force in a person's body and draw it out by freezing them. That's how they die so quickly."

Johnny tried not to think of Mack's last moments. Things were different back then, he told himself. But it still didn't make it right. "So you absorb their life force and use it as your own?"

"Yes. But it must be poisoned first; I wouldn't want to sicken myself with a pure soul."

"I see. And the more people you kill, the stronger you become?"

Blackheart nodded.

"Hm." Blaze grunted. "Sounds like we may need to spend a night out on the town."

The demon frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Cruisin' for sinners," he said, standing up and brushing the bits of gravel from his pants. "Speaking of which, the bike's probably ready for me to pick up. Come to the garage with me." He began to make his way to the stairs, Blackheart trailing in his wake.

"Why do _I_ have to go?"

"You're not letting the sword outta _your_ sight — I'm not letting you outta mine. Now c'mon. It's hot as hell up here."

Blackheart wiped off the sweat beading on his brow and followed Johnny down the stairs.

† † †

One man and one demon stared at the chopper in front of them. "I don't even recognize it." Johnny turned to a beaming Randy the Toad. "Is this the same bike?"

"Same one, just repaired and touched up a bit," Randy croaked. "Took the rust off the metal and added a nice glossy paint to the tank and fenders. She's a beaut'."

"You can say that again," Blaze murmured, trailing his hand across the sleek black body. It gleamed in the grubby light of the garage, chrome mufflers and steel rotors, a shining perfect jewel that had been polished from a lump of coal into a glittering diamond. Johnny could hardly believe that this bike had been left to rot in a shed in some backwater desert town. The frame was solid, strong, beautiful, and he couldn't help but feel as if his old bike, his beloved Grace, had given up the ghost so that he could save this one from neglect. Even Blackheart seemed captivated by its beauty, and reached out to touch the front fender.

"She's gorgeous, Randy," Johnny said, looking up. "Thank you."

"I couldn't disappoint Ms Black," the fat man gushed. "It's all gassed up and ready to go."

"Excellent," Blaze grinned, throwing his leg over the bike and making himself comfortable, which didn't take long — she fit like a glove. "I owe you big time, Randy."

"Only in ninety days," Randy said with a chuckle. "Take care, gents."

Johnny turned to Blackheart. "Get on. We'll take her for a spin."

The demon seemed surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah. Just watch that sword. I don't wanna scratch the new paint."

With awkward deliberation Blackheart mounted the bike behind Johnny, keeping a careful hand on the sword he'd stuck through his belt. Blaze kicked the bike to life and a loud rumble filled the garage. He revved it a few times, smiling as if it were the most beautiful music in the world. "Just like a kitten," he declared. "You might wanna grab onto me, kiddo."

"Why? I'm not —_ aaugh_!"

Johnny revved and popped the clutch, sending the bike squealing out of the garage and into the street. Blackheart barked a curse as he almost toppled off the back, and threw his arms around Blaze's waist. "Don't _do_ that!" he shouted angrily. "I almost fell off!"

"I told you to hang on!"

They sped down the street and turned left with a loud screech. Cars honked angrily at the reckless biker, but Johnny paid them no mind. He was enjoying himself, and he let out a whoop of delight as they thundered down the streets of Phoenix.

"You drive like a bat outta Hell!" Blackheart screamed over the engine, the wind tossing his black hair. "I know, I've _seen_ them!"

"Relax!" Blaze shouted back. "I know what I'm doing! Trust me, remember?"

Blackheart growled helplessly and closed his eyes. He'd never trusted anyone besides his mother. Now he was being asked to trust a mortal man, one of the most unreliable, back-stabbing creatures in all creation. Blind faith, Johnny had said. Give me something to believe in.

The demon cringed as they took a sharp curve well over the designated speed. "Lean with me!" Blaze shouted, and against his every instinct Blackheart leaned into the curve, toward the rapidly passing asphalt. The bike tilted with its riders, and came out of the curve upright once more. "Good!" Johnny congratulated. "You're already getting a feel for it!"

"I'm getting a feeling I'm in over my head," he grumbled. "Just keep us from crashing! I don't want to hear my mother complaining about any injuries I got from riding with a maniac!"

"I'm not a maniac!" Blaze laughed, and gunned it up to eighty on an open stretch of highway. "I'm the Amazing Blazing Johnny Blaze!"

Blackheart clenched his teeth and held on. "Same fucking thing!"

Johnny's laughter blended with the roar of the engine as he and the Prince of Hell made their way into the heart of the city. Though at first he was certain of disaster, the more time that passed without incident the greater Blackheart's confidence grew, until at last he was brave enough to loosen his grip on Johnny, which was beginning to embarrass him anyway. They drove through the center of Phoenix, past the high-rises and modern buildings that glimmered in the sun.

"You know about the mythology of the phoenix, right?" Blaze asked as they cruised by a green park.

"Of course," Blackheart answered curtly. "It's a mystical bird who sets itself on fire and rises from its own ashes. What about it?"

"The symbolism," Johnny said. "Rising from destruction and becoming something new. It's resurrection, a second chance." He paused as he turned left onto a quiet street. "I think you and me have been given a second chance, Black. It's kinda funny how we ended up in a city named after something so meaningful."

The demon said nothing for a long while, thinking about his rescue from Hell. Blaze had risked his life to save Blackheart's, something that was unheard of in a place as devoid of virtue as the underworld. Even among mortals it was a rare thing, an act that signified the ultimate sacrifice. If that wasn't grounds for trusting a person, what was?

"Johnny," Blackheart said, "stop the bike."

"What?"

"Stop the bike. I need to talk to you."

Blaze didn't ask any more questions; he pulled over in the shade of a tree and cut the engine. The sounds of the June afternoon sprang forth in the sudden silence: birds chirping, the faint drone of traffic. Johnny sat still and gripped the handlebars. Finally: "I never thanked you for saving me."

He half-turned in his seat to gaze at Blackheart. The demon's face was solemn, his eyes deep with emotions that Blaze had never seen before.

"So . . . Thank you. It was an insane thing to do, but I'm glad that you did it."

Johnny gave him a weary smirk. "Me, too. You're not half bad. For a demon."

The smile that came to Blackheart's face then was so genuine and pure that Johnny felt something indescribably holy grab his heart and carry it upward, and he suddenly knew that he'd drive into Hell a million more times if it meant saving this being sitting on the back of his bike — this being, who was neither demon nor angel now, but an entity bound to nobody except the people that he trusted.

The blue eyes slowly turned from Johnny's face to the orange streaks staining the western sky. "We'd better get back soon," Blackheart said. "My mother's going to worry."

"Right." Blaze started the bike with a kick and pulled out into the street. "Hey, I'm pretty hungry. You wanna stop for a slice of pizza?"

"What's pizza?"

"The greatest food on Earth. Trust me, you'll love it."

Blackheart grinned. Trust. He could do that.

† † †

At about half past six, they walked into the room and found Lilith sitting at the small table in front of the window, apparently waiting for them. She appeared groomed and fresh, dressed in a fitted black pantsuit with her black hair falling down her shoulders in sleek waves. The long scar on the side her face was barely visible now, thanks to time and a good foundation. Her arms and legs were crossed, and she didn't look happy. Johnny and Blackheart dropped the smiles from their faces and assumed the poses of guilty teenagers, shoulders hunched, eyes to the floor.

"Where have you two been all afternoon?" she demanded. "It's almost sundown."

"We went to pick up the bike," Johnny ventured. "I didn't know we had a curfew."

Lilith got up and strode over to argue face-to-face. She was pretty intimidating, even as a mortal woman. "The hell with curfews. Have both of you forgotten that Belial is still looking for us?"

"I had the Sword with me the whole time," Blackheart said defensively, "and earlier Johnny and I worked on trying to get our powers back."

Lilith arched an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"Yeah. Tonight we're going to see what sins this city has to offer."

The demoness glared accusingly at Johnny. "Does he mean what I think he means?"

"What do you think he means?"

"Ohh no. Uh uh. No Ghost Riding tonight — it'd attract too much attention. Belial would come straight for us if he sensed any demonic activity-"

"But Mother!"

"No buts, Atrocor! It's too dangerous, and you're not fully healed."

"He's going to come for us anyway!" Blackheart snapped, becoming frustrated. "Killing is the fastest way we can regain our powers, and it's a hell of a lot better than just sitting here and _thinking_ about getting stronger-"

"I don't like your tone of voice, Atrocor," Lilith said threateningly.

"I don't care. I'm an adult and I know what's best for me. You can't protect for me for the rest of my life."

Silence fell. Johnny took a modest step backward, watching Lilith's lips pinch together tightly as she stifled her anger. Blackheart straightened himself, looking tall and dignified, even in a trashy rebel shirt. "I'm going with Johnny tonight. You can't stop me."

More silence. The air was electric. Finally Blaze couldn't take it anymore and he said, "I don't wanna get involved in family matters, but Blackheart's right. Riding out tonight would be the quickest way we could regain our strength. You should come with us, Lilith. I know you're just thinking of everyone's best interest, but you've also got to think about yourself. I think our time of running and hiding is gonna be over soon, and we have to face this threat head on."

"But we're not _ready_," she whispered vehemently.

"Then let's start preparing now while we still can. 'Cause when Belial surprises us, we're not going to have time to do anything."

After a few moments of quiet thought, Lilith lowered her head in acceptance. "Alright," she agreed grudgingly. "No more running."

"Yes," Blackheart triumphantly hissed, but was cut short by his mother's finger in his face.

"You may be an adult," she warned, "but you're still my child. And as your mother I've got certain obligations to fulfill, and caring about my kid is the most important one."

Blackheart sighed and grasped his mother's finger, giving it an obedient shake. She grinned despite herself. "That's better." She suddenly paused, wrinkling her nose. "What's that smell?"

"What smell?"

She leaned forward and sniffed. "It's _you_, Atrocor. You smell filthy — positively human!"

"Gee, thanks," Johnny muttered.

"Have you been eating?"

"Yeah. Johnny and I stopped for pizza. It was really damn good, too. I-"

"What have I told you about eating mortal food? Johnny, why did you feed him?"

"You didn't tell me not to. Why, is he gonna turn into a gremlin or something?"

She let out a frustrated huff. "I thought I made myself clear when I said that food makes demons strange."

"Well how was _I_ supposed to know? I'm just a dumb stinkin' human."

Blackheart laughed.

"That's not funny, young man," Lilith said warningly. "You know the effects of-"

"Oh, Mother, it's not going to kill me." He waved his hand. "Don't worry."

"Hmph. Fine, but don't come crying to me later when you start acting human." She plucked at Blackheart's t-shirt disdainfully. "And unless you'd rather walk around dressed as a hillbilly trucker from now on, I took the liberty of getting you some new clothes. You too, Johnny. Your pants are pathetic."

"You're so subtle, Lilith."

"I don't mess around."

"Great. I get the shower first," Blackheart called, walking across the room and stripping off his clothes as he went.

"Hey, that's not fair," Blaze complained. "Haven't you heard of age before beauty?"

Blackheart shot him a catty grin from the bathroom door. "I beat you in both those departments, Johnny." And the door slammed shut.

Blaze turned to Lilith, who was smirking widely. "Your son is a brat," he stated.

"I know. Just be glad he wasn't twins."

† † †

Blackheart emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped loosely about his hips, still dripping wetly. "_Finally_," Johnny muttered, standing up from the table by the window. The demon made a face as he passed, and Blaze swiped at him halfheartedly.

"Your clothes are on the bed, sweetie," Lilith said, keeping her eyes glued to the newspaper she was reading.

Johnny's gaze followed Blackheart as he went to the bed and inspected his new garments. His lean body still bore faint marks and greenish bruises in various places, but most noticeable of all was a purplish oblique line that ran from his left shoulder, across his chest, to the right side of his hip. Johnny puzzled for a moment before he realized what it was . . . because he had one too, only on his back. It was a bruise from the chain that had held them together during their suicidal escape from Hell. He opened his mouth to mention it, thought better of it, and walked into the bathroom.

A while later he reappeared, squeaky clean and feeling like a new man. His clothes were laid out on the bed for him, and he nodded his thanks to Lilith, who gave him a deceptively kind smile. Blackheart now stood fully-dressed in front of the mirror, looking very much like the demon he'd been when he and Johnny had first met. He wore an embroidered black vest over a dark grey button-down shirt, and black leather pants that ended in a pair of familiar snakeskin boots.

"I see you kept the boots," Blaze said to him.

Blackheart shrugged one shoulder. "They're alright as long as you don't have to run to catch a train in them." He smirked at Johnny's reflection, smoothing his soft black hair down so that it lay scattered across his forehead in attractive wisps. Apparently his spiky, rebellious phase was over and he was going for a more natural look. "They're pretty effective when kicking somebody's ass."

"Don't I know," Blaze agreed, pulling on a similar pair of leather pants, only these weren't nearly as destroyed as his old pair. The snug-fitting long sleeve shirt was pretty flattering, too. "You've got pretty good taste, Lilith."

"What can I say," she murmured modestly. "Black never goes out of style." She turned to her son. "Before I forget, baby, check that bag over there. I got something for that pointy new toy of yours."

Blackheart squatted down and rummaged through a large plastic shopping bag at the bedside, and pulled out a black leather sheath fixed to belt. "Nice. Where did you find it?" he asked.

"One of those medieval novelty stores filled with _Dungeons & Dragons_ paraphernalia and wizard posters . . . Useless shit like that."

"D&D's still around this day and age?" Johnny asked.

"Unfortunately," Lilith scoffed. "Idiots never go extinct."

Blackheart stood and fastened the belt around his narrow waist, then carefully picked up the Sword of Valor and slid it snugly into the sheath. Johnny and Lilith stared at him, and he stared back. "I feel ridiculous," he muttered.

Blaze shook his head hopelessly, trying not to laugh. "Cowboy boots and a sword. You're Sir Eastwood."

Lilith snorted and covered her mouth.

Blackheart glared at her. "Thanks a lot, you two."

"Oh honey, you look very handsome, really," Lilith insisted. "It's just been so long since people have worn swords. . ."

"Because it makes them look stupid."

"I think it's badass," Blaze said, crossing his arms.

Blackheart arched an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah. I wouldn't fuck with you." He turned to give Lilith a grin. "Especially when your mama's around."

Blackheart sighed impatiently and grabbed his black sleeveless longcoat from the back of a chair. "Whatever. I don't care what I look like. As long as I've got something to keep Belial at bay, I'm not complaining." He walked to the door and turned around. "Well? Are we going to stay here all night, or are we going to find some trouble?"

Johnny grabbed his jacket and followed the two demons.

† † †

Viktoria "Vixen" Vincetti was one of the most powerful mob bosses in the southwest, and her infamy was matched only by the fact that she was one of the most vicious women in mafia history. With close connections to the gambling industry in Las Vegas, thanks to her mobster father who owned three of the largest casinos in Nevada, Vixen had been spoiled and over-privileged all her life, and her greed and ruthlessness was unparalleled. And tonight she was going to add another corpse to the growing pile past the runways of Sky Harbor International Airport.

She stepped out of the shiny black Hummer as two huge men armed with M12 Berettas shoved a frightened-looking man down to the pavement. His face was already bruised and bloodied from earlier that evening, when it was discovered he'd been leaking information to the LVPD for the past three months, resulting in the shutting down of one of Boss Vincetti's casinos. The man, Dez Creighton, already knew he was a dead man.

"Get him up," Vixen snarled to her lackeys, and the men dragged Creighton to his feet and forced him back at gunpoint.

"It wasn't me," he lied, desperately trying to save himself. "I didn't know anything about it! I haven't been to Vegas in three years and-"

Vixen lashed out with her fist and sent the man to the ground. "Don't lie to me again, you sniveling fuck. We've got emails and phone records of you chatting pretty with the detectives down in Clark. Do you know what happens to double-crossing worms like you, Dezzi?"

Carmichael nodded furiously. "I know, I know!" he whimpered. "But they would have found out anyway even if I hadn't told 'em! And you already snuffed the lead detective, it's not a problem!"

"_You're_ a problem, Dez. A _big_ fucking problem, and I handle my problems by getting rid of them." She turned her back and walked toward the car. The conversation was over. "Take care of him, boys. I'll be-"

She never finished her sentence. Out of the darkness stepped a dangerous-looking man in a leather jacket. Vixen let out a startled gasp before a hand seized her throat, squeezing it tightly. The two guards turned at the sound of her strangled gasps and were struck violently from behind. Creighton turned and ran for his life, disappearing into the night. The pair of thugs fell to the ground, weapons sliding across the asphalt, and Blackheart placed his foot on one man's back. "Don't move," he growled, reaching down to grasp him by the neck. "It'll be a lot quicker this way."

The guard sputtered and struggled as his skin began to go deathly blue. Beside him, the other man let out a scream as Lilith put the pointy heel of her shoe through his trachea. Blood spurted thickly across the man's collar, but quickly dissolved as she crouched down and placed her hand over the gushing wound, soaking it up. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. "Yess," she purred. "So good . . ."

Vixen fought in the iron grip of Johnny Blaze, scratching and clawing at the hot hand that was choking the life out of her. "Your soul is stained with the blood of the innocent," Blaze said darkly, his voice deepening as his skin began to steam. "You must pay for your sins."

The guilty woman's eyes widened in terror as Johnny's head burst into flames, flesh melting away to reveal a grinning skull. She was lifted from the ground, her feet kicking six inches from the ground. "Look into my eyes," the skeleton snarled, and Vixen couldn't help but to obey. She released a choked scream as fire consumed her from the inside out, and she saw the faces of all the people she'd had murdered, tortured, or terrorized.

Blackheart was forced to look away, reminded of having the thousand souls within him burned by the Ghost Rider's Penance Stare. Below him, the guard was now a shriveled black corpse, stiff with rigor mortis. Lilith rose from the mummified carcass she had created from a man that had been living not five minutes before, and watched with fascination as the Ghost Rider did his job.

Finally Vixen ceased to struggle; her body went limp, swinging from the skeletal hand that gripped her. When her eyes were rendered cracked lumps of sizzling coal, Blaze let her drop. With a shake of his head the flames disappeared, and he returned to his mortal form. He glanced up at Lilith and Blackheart. "You two okay?"

"Much better, thank you," the demoness replied, already looking more energetic. "In fact, I'd-"

A white bolt of lightning suddenly tore the sky in half, followed by a roll of thunder that shook the ground like an earthquake. Johnny wobbled on his feet and fell against the Hummer as the sky continued to explode. "What the hell is _that_!?" he screamed.

Mother and son took hold of one another, eyes riveted in fear to the sandstorm approaching on the runway. "Oh please God no," Lilith uttered, forgetting her creed in the face of this monstrosity. "Don't let me be right."

But it could be no other.

Belial had found them.


	9. Love & Valor

**﻿Love & Valor**

Blaze crawled to his feet, and stared in amazement as the runway beneath his feet began to crack. He walked backward, toward his bike parked beyond the Hummer, watching the veins split the asphalt and open wide. "Can we make a run for it?" he shouted to the demons over the roar of the wind.

"Not an option," Blackheart replied, drawing the sword and holding it in front of him as he and his mother made their way to Johnny's side.

"You know how to use that thing?" he asked, getting behind Blackheart and keeping his eyes fixed on the vicious sandstorm a hundred yards away.

"It's been a while."

"That's not what I wanna hear right now."

"You'd find out sooner or later."

Lilith suddenly seized her son's arm and cried out in horror. Johnny followed her gaze and saw that she was staring at a shadow emerging from the billowing cloud of sand: a tall man in black armor, his red eyes glowing and his white hair whipping around in the wind. They could hear his low, ugly laughter resonate through the air like a subsonic vibration, and the three renegades stood closely together.

"Lilith. Atrocor. Zarathos. How precious," the fearsome demon chuckled, drawing ever closer. "A family of demons." With a smooth motion he drew a black sword from its sheath and held it toward them. "Mephisto has ordered me to bring you back."

"We're not going, Belial," Blackheart snarled, his face contorting to show the monster lurking beneath his flesh. "You'll have to kill us first."

Belial smiled grotesquely and raised his sword, accepting the challenge.

And then he disappeared.

"Oh shit," Blackheart uttered, and no sooner had the words left his mouth than Belial reappeared in front of him, his sword slicing downward. Johnny and Lilith leapt backward in shock, and Blackheart, reacting with senses too quick to be human, brought up his sword to keep the black blade from falling on his shoulder. There was a screech of metal and sparks flew — Blackheart fell to one knee under the strength of Belial, gritting his teeth to keep the earth-demon's sword at bay.

Lilith released an inhuman screech and darted forward to attack, and Belial ceased bearing down on Blackheart to meet this new threat. He sent the demoness sailing across the runway with a single effortless strike of his arm. Blaze watched her hit the ground and roll like a ragdoll, and suddenly he wished he had a chain or a gun or a-

Belial snarled and sprang after Blackheart, who stumbled to his feet in time to block strike after strike from the black sword. Belial was fast, his moves like flashes of lightning, and Johnny stood helplessly by, wondering what he could do and awed by Blackheart's ability to keep blocking each deadly swing. Maybe a distraction would work, give Blackheart enough time to get in a few hits.

Johnny turned around and raced to his bike, springing into the seat, grinding his heel into the starter. The bike roared to life, and he sat for a moment, revving the engine and watching the swordfight in front of him. He closed his eyes, concentrating hard. "Come on, Ghost Rider. Give me the power."

Images of hellfire, vengeance and black metal took over his mind. His head ignited with a burst that spread down his body, through his hands and into the bike, shifting its shape and causing the steel to glow white-hot. The wheels exploded into flame with a whoosh of air, and the orange fire of the Ghost Rider and his Hellcycle lit up the night.

Belial raised his head to see a flaming monstrosity on wheels of fire tear toward him with a screech; this second-long pause gave Blackheart just enough time to thrust upward and plant the blade of the Sword of Valor through Belial's left arm.

The demon screamed with the might of a thunderbolt, staggering backward as Blackheart wrenched his sword out. Black blood spattered onto the runway like oil, and as Belial stood, stunned that he'd actually been wounded, the Ghost Rider struck him head on. Belial flew backward over the asphalt, sword clattering from his grip.

The Rider brought his bike to a halt and watched the demon crawl to his feet. "I've got a plan," he snarled to Blackheart. "Keep him busy."

He revved the Hellcycle and sped off toward where Lilith lay on the runway, dazed and injured. He stopped and held out his fiery hand. "Come with me," he growled, and Lilith took his hand, climbing onto the bike. Together they roared down the track, away from the fight.

Blackheart felt a sense of helpless vulnerability, watching Belial walk over and pick his sword up from the ground. Somehow he imagined that he'd only made his opponent angry.

"You little bastard," the earth-demon hissed, letting his bleeding arm hang limp. "You've taken the Sword of Valor."

"I didn't _take_ anything," Blackheart shot back.

Belial laughed. "So someone was foolish enough to give it to you? You're pathetic, Atrocor. You don't know how to use that weapon. Give it to me now and surrender, and maybe I'll put in a good word for you and your mother when we return home."

Blackheart set his jaw. "My home is here," he stated, "and you're trespassing in it."

"The mortal realm is no place for demons to live, you stupid child," Belial snarled. "You belong in Hell."

"I belong here."

"Fool!" Belial screamed, throwing himself forward with fury. His blade crashed into Blackheart's, sending it spinning through the air and planting into the asphalt. Blackheart reeled from the force of the blow, and Belial lunged, stabbing him in the shoulder.

Blackheart screamed in agony and fell onto his back, Belial moving with him. The demon put a heavy foot on Blackheart's chest, pressing down so hard that Blackheart could almost hear his ribs beginning to crack. Belial sneered cruelly, leaning on his sword and causing it to plunge down to the pavement, completely through Blackheart's right shoulder. The younger demon screamed at the top of his lungs, writhing in pain.

Belial chuckled. "What do you think you are, Atrocor? A human? Do you love this world so much that you would stay here forever, only to die and turn into the very dust you once walked upon?" He spit in Blackheart's face. "_I_ should have been the Prince of Hell, not you," he muttered. "You're a worthless excuse of a demon."

Blackheart panted and gasped for air, feeling as if his lungs were collapsing. When Belial pulled the blade out of his shoulder, dark red blood began to pool thickly on the ground beneath him. "Hn. If you can even be called a demon at all," Belial added, using the tip of his bloodstained sword to lift Blackheart's shirt until his belly was exposed, bare and vulnerable. He stared dispassionately at the pale flesh. "You bear the human mark," he murmured, very gently tracing a circle around Blackheart's navel with the edge of his blade.

A faint roar was growing in the distance, becoming louder with every second.

"Born of angels, raised by demons. You are not one of us, Atrocor. You are too soiled by holy blood and human birth to be a demon, pure like the rest of us fallen. You are a weakness among us, a disease, and that heart that beats in your chest still remembers what love is. It shows in your blood, those sins of Heaven. You won't have to worry about it for too much longer, though; I'll set it free."

Belial raised his sword high in both hands, the tip pointing downward, and Blackheart wondered what it would feel like to have his heart carved from his body. Just then, the roaring sound that had been getting louder suddenly exploded, and Blackheart glimpsed wheels of fire flying through the air toward Belial. With a surge of desperation, Blackheart grabbed Belial's foot and twisted. The demon bellowed, stumbled, and Blackheart rolled, and the Hellcycle crashed down onto Belial, crushing him to the ground and driving over his body.

The Rider and Lilith circled back as Belial raised himself from the pavement, flames licking at his cloak. They began to run circles around the demon, forming a ring of fire between him and his injured quarry. "Are you sure this will work?" Lilith cried.

"It has to," the Rider answered, and opened the throttle wide, turning himself into a blur of steel and fire. Belial turned this way and that, beside himself with fury that an insignificant demon such as the Ghost Rider would dare to challenge him so boldly. He reached down and grasped his black sword, and prepared to strike back.

On the other side of the ring of fire, Blackheart crawled to his knees, still bleeding heavily, and searched for his sword. There it was, maybe ten yards away. He hauled himself to his feet and staggered toward it, tripping just as he reached it. He forced himself to get up, though he felt faint and nauseated. He grasped the golden hilt, pulling. It wouldn't budge. His strength was fading fast, and his pierced shoulder sent shockwaves of agony rippling through his body.

_I can't give up now. They need me._

Clenching his teeth, Blackheart closed his eyes and pulled as hard as he could. Blinding white pain blossomed behind his eyes, and blood poured from his shoulder, dripping down his coat and onto the ground. With his eyes shut tightly, he didn't see the sword begin to glow ethereally, nor did he see the ring on his finger start to radiate a halo of white light.

"I've grown tired of this, Zarathos!" Belial thundered, his red eyes following the Rider's path. "You are not fast enough!" Raising his sword over his head, he threw it like a dagger at just the right moment — the black blade lodged in the fiery rotor of the Hellcycle. He watched with satisfaction as the bike bucked and crashed, sending its riders skidding across the runway. The ring of fire began to fade as Belial stalked forward, grabbing his blade from the Hellcycle's back wheel and moving toward the defenseless demons.

Johnny sat up, the flames vanishing from his body, and he groaned in pain. Beside him, Lilith lay on her side, moaning quietly. Before he could ask her if she was alright, a fist grasped the collar of his jacket and hauled him upright. He found himself staring into a pair of hellish red eyes.

Belial rasped, "All the fire in Hell couldn't save you now, Johnny Blaze."

Johnny saw the demon draw back his sword for the strike. There was a flash of something white, and Blaze felt Belial give a hard shudder. A strange expression came over the demon's face; Johnny looked down to see a glowing white sword protruding from Belial's stomach. Belial's fingers went lax and the man slipped from his grasp, tumbling to the ground.

The white sword drove deeper with a sickening sound of tearing muscle, sticking farther through the demon's body, and Johnny stared as Belial released his sword and his eyes went black, dead. He fell forward, revealing Blackheart standing behind him, his body surrounded by a glowing light. Almost immediately the light began to fade, and Blackheart met Johnny's eyes before he toppled to the ground, senseless.

Belial's body began to disintegrate, melting into the asphalt and leaving behind only a greasy black stain. The black sword vanished in a puff of dust, and the wind that had been howling since his arrival abruptly ceased. The clouds cleared, revealing a canopy of stars in a dark blue sky.

Johnny grunted, crawling on his elbows over to Blackheart's body. He rolled him over and sat up, pulling the demon's head into his lap. "Jesus Christ, kiddo," he choked, pressing his bare hands against the horrific wound in Blackheart's shoulder. Blood seeped through Blaze's fingers, staining his skin and making his flesh tingle warmly.

Blackheart's expression was peaceful, eyes closed, the corners of his mouth curved in that natural way that made him seem as if he was just barely smiling all the time. Johnny felt a lump form in his throat as he gazed at him, and brushed the disheveled black hair off of the demon's forehead. "You saved my life."

He sat under the Phoenix stars, cradling Blackheart in his arms, and hoped that the worst of it was over.

† † †

Rizfadael walked quickly across the ice and approached the throne. He gave a curt bow to Mephistopheles and his daughter. "My lord, Belial has been destroyed."

"Indeed," Mephisto said, smiling to himself. "How unfortunate. What else have you learned?"

"You wife and son are in Phoenix," Rizfadael answered. "The Ghost Rider is caring for them now."

"Is he?" Mephisto rose to his feet and descended the short dais. "How unusual. My son nearly killed Blaze in San Venganza."

"And just now your son saved Blaze from death at Belial's own hands."

"Hm. Truly ironic," Mephisto mused, tapping his cane on the ice as he sauntered past Rizfadael. "It seems that Atrocor has become a phoenix himself. I should have known the holy light within him would never extinguish." He glanced at Malinda, who sat before a torch of blue fire and was making shadow puppets on the ebony wall. "Have you made any progress finding the Circle of Fidelity?"

The angel bowed his head. "No, my lord, but Sabbris and my fellow rebels have confiscated heavenly documents that might tell us where it is. We are working to translate them now." He paused. "It has been difficult. We do not remember the heavenly tongue as we used to, even young Sabbris."

"Ah." Mephisto grinned. "Too much time spent far from God. Take care that you don't forget your name, as I have done. I need you to be able to bring me news from Above. Speaking of which, I trust that Michael and the other generals have not discovered your deception?"

"No, sire, but they are aware of the missing documents. They have become suspicious of all this activity."

Mephisto grunted with annoyance. "As long as they stay out of the mortal realm, my plan will go accordingly. But should they descend to Earth before we've found the Circle, Rizfadael, there will be dire consequences."

The angel bowed low before his master. "You need not worry, my lord. We will have found the Circle long before they are aware."

Mephisto drew in a slow breath. "For your sake, you'd better be right, Rizfadael."

† † †

Johnny sat on the edge of the bed and pressed a wad of paper towels to Blackheart's shoulder. The wound was already beginning to mend, but not quickly enough to cast away fears of bleeding to death. He knew demons died differently from mortals, but Blaze wasn't going to take any chances.

He leaned down, applying even pressure to the still-trickling puncture. He was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open. At least Blackheart had the luxury of unconsciousness, and Lilith had fallen asleep almost instantly after Blaze had tended to her scrapes and cuts. She lay on the other bed, her brow creased with worry, even in her sleep.

Johnny yawned, wishing he could lay down even for a minute. It must be two or three o'clock in the morning by now, and he'd had a hard enough time dragging two injured demons onto his bike and driving back to the hotel. Not to mention hauling them into the elevator and having to explain to the night clerk that they'd gotten screaming drunk at a bar and started a brawl. The clerk had just stared at him in astonishment, and Johnny bet that the trail of blood across the carpet would still be there in the morning.

His head drooped and he began to nod, his eyes closing against his will. He struggled to keep them open, and about ten minutes later he was so far gone that he was starting to think crazy. He had to keep pressure on these rags, because he didn't have any tape or rope or . . .

"Fuck it," he muttered, maneuvering himself so that he lay on top of Blackheart's right shoulder. Blaze folded his arm beneath himself, keeping his hand pressed to the wound, and rested his head on the pillow beside Blackheart. He sighed comfortably, staring at the side of the demon's face. He'd never been this close to him before. Was it his imagination, or was his cheek showing a hint of pink? Probably a trick of the light. But the kid's hair really _was_ black, a true black like midnight or pure coffee or-

Johnny drifted into darkness.

† † †

He was back at the carnival, jumping rings of fire with his dad and listening to the cheers. The smell of popcorn and hotdogs and motor oil filled the air, and Johnny's mind actually believed he was there. It was so vivid, the colors, the smells, the emotions. His dad clapped him on the back and congratulated him afterward, and cut him loose until the evening show.

Roxanne was waiting for him outside of the tent, and she smiled as Johnny went to her side and took her hand. "Only you, Johnny," she repeated. "We'll be together forever. I love you."

And then his hand was suddenly empty.

He was in his apartment back in Texas, watching TV with Mack and talking about the next big idea, the new bike modifications, laughing at the raunchy sitcoms, swapping scars and tales of life.

And then the chair was suddenly empty.

He was in a white bathroom, staring at the tub. Blackheart rose from the water, his hair shiny, droplets running down his bare body. He grasped the shower curtain and blinked, his eyelashes damp and clumped together. "Trust," he murmured. "Faith."

He stepped out of the tub and pressed his hands against Johnny's eyes. Johnny could feel the cold ring of silver against his brow. "Blind," Blackheart whispered, his voice soft and warm. "Blind."

The hands fell away and he opened his eyes.

And Blackheart was still there.

† † †

Johnny woke with a jump, his eyes springing open. His vision was blurred and for a moment he didn't know where he was, but then everything became clear and he saw Blackheart lying there beside him . . . Staring with pale blue eyes.

Blaze sucked in a gasp, startled.

"You were dreaming about me," Blackheart whispered eerily. "What did you see?"

Johnny paused, wondering if he should answer and trying not to think about the three tiny inches between his lips and the demon's. "Nothing," he breathed. "I couldn't see."

"Then what did you feel?" Blackheart hadn't blinked yet.

"I felt . . ." Johnny swallowed. "Trust. Faith."

"Hmm," the demon murmured sleepily, wrapping his fingers around Johnny's wrist. His eyes fluttered closed, and a sigh left his lips before he drifted off: "Blind."

† † †

Lilith was the first to wake. She opened her eyes and rolled over, aware of every muscle and bone in her mortal body because all of them ached. Her head pounded with a migraine and she was parched. She knew that the only way she was going to quench her thirst would be if she got out of bed and went to the sink in the bathroom. The thought of standing up made her stomach churn, but she had no other choice.

Very slowly she pushed herself up until she sat on the edge of the bed. With equal deliberation she rose to her feet and walked — left foot, right foot, left foot — toward the bathroom. The pain in her head was indescribable. She pushed open the bathroom door and leaned against the sink. She grabbed a paper cup and filled it from the tap, drained it in a few gulps. She refilled it a few more times before she was satisfied. She stood, feeling a little better, and decided to go back to bed.

But when Lilith emerged from the bathroom, she stopped.

In the other bed, Blaze was lying against her son, halfway on top of him, asleep. Dried blood stained his shirt and hand, and was the glue that bound him to Blackheart. The demon's legs were woven with the man's, and he held Johnny's wrist against his chest. Against his heart. Though they lay on top of the covers and were still dressed, they mimicked the intimacy of lovers, even if they didn't know it.

Lilith sank against the door frame, feeling hollow inside. She was no longer the sole possessor of her son's heart, she realized. Someone else owned a piece of it now: a mortal man. Feelings of anger and jealousy rose within her. How could she be so quickly replaced by this worthless, expendable human?

Tears blurred Lilith's eyes.

But Blaze wasn't worthless. He had saved her son's life, saved _her_ life as well, and helped them in ways that nobody ever had, demon or angel or mortal. He was humble and courageous. He was easygoing and clear-headed. He had power in him he wasn't aware of, strength that could overcome all obstacles. He was the only person Lilith could imagine guiding her son, teaching him, standing by him and supporting him with as much passion as she herself had done. He was the father figure Blackheart had never had. He was what her son needed most.

She returned to her empty bed and sat down, gazing at the two. They looked so peaceful, so content. Mortal and demon side by side, the lamb laying with the lion. . .

_If this is what you want,_ Lilith thought, _I won't stand in your way, baby. If you still believe you can feel love, then who am I to argue? Who am I to deny you the right to find happiness in another's arms? I would be a tyrant, not a mother. I knew the day would come that I would have to let you go . . . I just never through it would be this soon._

Lilith wiped the tears from her cheeks and laid down, hoping that the ache in her heart wouldn't last forever.

† † †

_Vatican City  
Rome, Italy_

The small monastery that sat above a little-known catacomb was watched over by an elderly nun. Through the flowering courtyard framed by white-washed walls, a blonde-haired woman sat at a table, her finger tracing down the page of a thick ream of iridescent paper. It shone in the light like the inside of an oyster shell, a white sheen hiding a rainbow of colors. With a weary sigh she turned the page, growing more and more depressed as her search for the Circle of Fidelity turned up fruitless.

The Mediterranean sun was hidden by heavy gray clouds, making it seem later in the day than it really was. The kindly old nun who ran the tourist shop brought out a plate of food and a small decanter of wine to the guest.

"_Grazie, suora_," said Sabbris, looking up from the papers with a smile. "You are too kind."

"_De nada_, _bambina_," the nun replied. "Stay for as long as you like."

The angel watched the old woman shuffle away, and hoped that she wouldn't remain here much longer. While she was hidden safely in this monastery, it wouldn't be long before Rizfadael or the others came calling on her again to ask her about her progress.

She went back to reading the lines of ethereal text, taking notes on a small pad of paper beside her, wishing that someone else had been chosen for this task. But no, she was the one whom Michael had sent to live among the outsiders, to learn what she could about their secretive exploits. She never thought that Rizfadael, the angel whom she had once loved so dearly, could have ever been involved with Mephistopheles himself. It had broken her heart, but not her loyalty to Heaven. He would surely come around, she kept telling herself. Before the end, he would see the light. What could the Devil possibly have to offer a angel? A powerful position in Hell, ruling over fire and demons?

Sabbris shuddered at the thought. In her time living on the edges of Heaven, far from the word of God, she had begun to forget. Such as it was with all those angels who eventually fell: first they ceased to remember the holy tongue, then their hearts became stained with the darkness of their sins. And before they were cast out, the Archangel Michael would reach into their minds and take their names from them, and they would be lost forever. Unless one remembered his heavenly name, he would never be allowed to return.

"I am Sabbris, angel of His flock," she would repeat to herself every so often, so she wouldn't forget. "Though I tread these dangerous waters, I will follow the beacon of my Father's light, and I will not be lost. I am Sabbris, angel of His flock."

Early that evening, as expected, Rizfadael came to visit her in the barracks where she was staying. "Have you found anything?" he asked urgently, his voice sharp.

"Not much," Sabbris replied meekly. "It is difficult. Perhaps if I had some help-"

"The others are worthless when it comes to translating the holy tongue. You alone are better than any of us." He paused, giving her a cool smile. "But you have discovered something, yes?"

"I think," she said, thumbing through her notes. "I was able to translate this passage, roughly." She handed the pad to Rizfadael, who scowled at what he read:

_The Circle fell before the rest,  
before the Host were torn,  
when beat beneath a gentle breast  
the heart of the Firstborn._

Rizfadael dropped the pad of paper on a table. "That's all you have?" he demanded. "What have you been doing here, Sabbris, enjoying a nice holiday?"

"No, you don't understand!" she insisted. "This passage references the Firstborn, the son of Mephistopheles. He might have had something to do with the Circle."

Rizfadael's angry expression suddenly changed. "Do you really think so?"

"Well, I — I can't be sure right now, but it sounds as if the Circle might be somehow tied to the fall of Lilith. I'm still trying to decipher these last four lines but-"

"That will do for now," the male angel interrupted, turning to leave. "I'll return tomorrow, and you'd better have more information by then. Mephisto is growing impatient with your progress."

Sabbris bowed her head. "I'm sorry, Rizfadael. I will work all night if I must."

"Good. Because if I get punished for your inability to keep deadlines. . ." He trailed off and sighed, then feigned a smile. "Our success is counting on you."

Rizfadael vanished through the door, and Sabbris heaved a heavy sigh, placing a hand to her chest. "God help me," she whispered, opening up her notes and getting back to work.

† † †

Blackheart awoke slowly, staring at the ceiling above him. He could hear cars driving by on the street below, but other than that, it was quiet. He sat up sorely, letting the comforter slide down to reveal fresh white bandages wrapped around his chest and over his shoulder, binding his wound. He looked around the room. Something smelled good. Where was Johnny?

The demon blinked. Why had he thought of Johnny before his own mother?

Suddenly his question was answered: Johnny came through the door with a bucket of ice and a white carafe of steaming coffee. He saw that Blackheart was sitting up and smiled slightly. "Hey," he greeted, setting the coffee and ice on the table and walking over to sit on the edge of the bed. "How're you feeling?"

"I've been better," Blackheart confessed, rolling his stiff shoulder. "Did you, uh . . ."

"Me and your mom," Johnny answered, nodding to the white wrappings. "It was her idea, of course. I just wanted to keep sleeping."

Blackheart started to laugh before his eyes caught the dark stain on Johnny's black shirt — the demon's own blood. It suddenly came back to him, the feeling of a heavy weight on his shoulder, a warm breath in his ear. . .

Blaze frowned with concern. "You okay? You look like you have a fever."

"Wh-what?" Blackheart reached up and placed his hand to his cheek. It was hot. But he wasn't sick.

He was blushing.

"I'm fine," he said quietly. "I feel fine."

Johnny nodded. "Okay then. Hey, I know your mom's gonna give me the third degree about this later, but I had room service bring up breakfast." He stood up and went to the table at the bedside, where a large covered tray sat. He carried it over and sat it carefully on the mattress, lifting the lid, revealing French toast and scrambled eggs and grapefruit and sausage and orange juice and-

Blackheart pointed to a bowl of multicolored cereal. "What the hell is that?"

"Froot Loops," Johnny answered, picking up the bowl and pouring a small carton of milk over it. "I haven't had these things in years." He shoveled the sugary cereal into his mouth and grinned. "I'd offer you some but they'd probably hype you out."

Blackheart made a disgusted face. "You can keep all of it as far as I'm concerned." His eyes roamed over the tray. "What's this?"

"French toast. Good stuff."

"This?"

"Grapefruit. Might wanna put some sugar on it first. It's kinda sour."

Blackheart lifted the cover of a small dish and found it full of blueberries. The grin that came to his face was so bright that Johnny almost had to wince. "Thought you'd like those," he said.

The demon looked up, at a loss for words. "Johnny . . ."

"Ah ah. Thank me later. Hurry up and eat before your mom gets outta the shower."

"But I can't eat all this!"

"I can help. No problem."

So Blackheart sat cross-legged in bed and ate breakfast with Johnny. He loved everything that he tasted. Except the grapefruit. Milk almost shot out Johnny's nose when he saw the face the demon made after taking his first bite. A little bit of sugar made it more palatable. Between the two of them they cleared the tray, and Blaze poured two cups of coffee, handing one to Blackheart. "Don't worry. It's decaf. I'm trying to get your mom to kick the habit."

Blackheart held the warm cup in both hands, feeling much better than he had when he'd first woken up. "So," he said hesitantly, "what happened last night?"

"You mean you don't remember?" Blaze asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I remember some parts, but . . ."

"Well," Johnny said, "for a minute there things were looking real bad. Your mom got thrown around a bit and Belial almost sliced me in half, but you killed him in the end."

"What?"

"Yeah, he's dead now. Gone. Stuck that sword right through his gut." He paused. "He had me in a stranglehold when you did that. You saved my life."

There came that hot feeling all over his face again. Blackheart bowed his head, hoping to hide it. "You would have done the same for me," he murmured.

"How do you know that?"

The demon looked up in surprise. Johnny took a sip of his coffee, waiting. "Because I trust you," he admitted. "You've never let me down, even when I still called you an enemy."

Johnny stared at his coffee, and then, unable to resist: "What am I called now?"

Blackheart replied in a quiet voice, "Johnny Blaze." He grinned a little. "My friend."

That holy something-or-other Johnny had felt lift his heart yesterday came back again, and he raised his hand to brush his knuckles against Blackheart's smooth white cheek. The demon's lips parted in surprise. His eyes widened, his breath quickened, and the ring on his little finger began to glow.

"What the-?" Blaze uttered, dropping his hand. The ring glowed for another second before it shimmered and went out. "What is that thing?"

"My. It's . . ." Blackheart blinked, trying to remember how to speak again. "My mother gave it to me."

Johnny set his coffee cup aside, staring at the ring. "Where did she get it?"

"I don't know. She wore it in Heaven before the fall."

"Blackheart, that thing was glowing just like the Sword of Valor did last night."

"Glowing? I don't remember any-"

"What were the Seven Seals again?" Johnny spoke hurriedly. He seemed excited, agitated.

"Uh, the Sword of Valor. Crown of Mercy. Shield of Faith."

Blaze counted off on his fingers as Blackheart recited them all.

"Scales of Justice. Mirror of Wisdom. Goblet of Benevolence. Circle of Fidelity."

"Fidelity?"

"Yes. Loyalty, fealty, love, it's all the same thi-"

"The Circle of Love?"

"Yes, but what-"

"Like a ring of love?"

"I don't understa-"

"Blackheart," Johnny uttered in a low voice, "that angel lied to us."

He frowned. "What?"

"The angel. Rizfin-whatever. He was lying. He said that Mephisto had _six_ of the Seals." He locked his eyes onto the silver ring. "But he has only five."

Blackheart stared down at the simple ring in disbelief. "How . . . How do you-?"

"Thinking like a demon." Blaze tapped his temple. "Your mom told me it was going to come in handy, and it has. We're being played, Blackheart. That angel works for your father. He wanted you to have that sword for a reason."

"But why?"

"My guess is he lied to keep us from looking for the last Seal, so he could find it for himself. Nobody knows that _you_ have it! He must be trying to distract us somehow." Johnny jumped up from the bed and began to pace the room. "Yes. _Yes_. Your mom had a feeling about that angel, and she was dead right. Yes!" He raised both fists in the air. "Thank God for female intuition!"

Blackheart just stared. "Johnny, I think you've had too much cereal . . ."

"No no, don't you see? You've got two-sevenths of ultimate power!" Blaze cried, grinning from ear to ear. "You've got the two final Seals! Leverage!" He crouched by the bed and took Blackheart's face in his hands. "Heaven doesn't know anything yet, and we've got to tell them, Blackheart! Then the cavalry will come thundering down out of the clouds, kick your dad's ass and show his new brat a thing or two, and you and your mom will live happily ever after! The-fucking-_end_!"

Blackheart beamed, his heart pounding at the thought of this nightmare being over, of being free from his father forever. He grasped Johnny's wrists and laughed with him, the both of them bouncing excitedly, two creatures gone mad with joy. And then Johnny leaned forward and kissed him.

It was quick, over almost as soon as it had happened. But their laughter grew quiet and their smiles faded, and Blaze didn't let go of Blackheart's head. They met each other's eyes. Johnny slowly sat down on the edge of the bed. "I . . ." he whispered, barely a breath, "didn't mean . . ."

Blackheart grabbed Johnny by the back of the neck and pulled him forward. Their lips met again, but this time it meant something. The demon pressed urgently, wanting to feel that heat again, pulling their bodies together. Arms wrapped around shoulders and waists, squeezing tight, pain utterly ignored. Warm lips and tongues smothered one another wetly until tastes became mingled: blueberries and sugar and coffee cream. And then, as if both their minds finally caught up with them, they tore apart.

Blackheart pressed himself against the headboard, panting heavily, fear and confusion in his eyes. Johnny sat up from where he had fallen backward onto the mattress. He looked dazed, like he'd just been whaled upside the head with a two-by-four. "Holy _fuck_," he wheezed. "What just happened?"

The demon didn't answer. He raised his fingers to his lips and knew.

There came the sound of a door opening, and Lilith stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a robe and drying her long back hair. She paused when she saw the expressions on their faces. "What's the matter?" she asked warily. "You two look scared to death."

"Mother," Blackheart said slowly, "I think you need to sit down."


	10. It Must Be Real

**﻿It Must Be Real**

_"For your failure to obey the laws of this realm," Gabriel declared so that all the angels could hear, "and for shunning our Father's love; for bringing war to His holy domain; for challenging His power and rejecting His mercy; for your pride and your arrogance; for your hatred of Him who created you, you are hereby banished from the Holy Kingdom forever, Samael."_

_The condemned angel, his hands shackled and his wings bound tightly to his back, hissed at the Archangel before he was led away. The next insurgent was hauled before Gabriel, and his verdict echoed through the air._

_Floreus stood stiffly as she waited her turn, attempting to soothe the cries of her infant son. She cradled him as best as she could with manacles strapped to her wrists, and talked to him softly. "Shh, now, Damael. Be quiet. Please stop crying." She glanced around in fear, wondering what was going to happen to her and hoping that her baby would be spared from the same terrible fate that awaited the rest of the traitors._

_"Floreus!" Gabriel called, and she was led before the Archangel, who looked down at her dispassionately. "Floreus. Your sin is evident in the creature you carry in your arms. You are guilty by association, for Samael has bent you to his will and you are beyond our Father's aid. Your crime is that of the flesh; for seeking physical pleasure instead of spiritual cleanliness; for your lust and gluttony of unholy passions; for rejecting our Father in your time of need. However . . ."_

_Gabriel stared at the wailing infant in her arms. "The product of your evil ways, though he was forged in sin, is innocent. Your child may stay in Heaven, but you, Floreus, are banished forever."_

_That was all she needed to hear. Floreus, with tears in her eyes, held out her baby to be taken from her arms. Never again would she see him, this precious thing that she loved so much and to whom she had given life . . ._

_"NO!"_

_She gasped and turned, seeing Samael lunge in his chains. He looked demented, insane with fury._

_"Damael is of_ my _blood, _my _flesh!" he bellowed. "He is_ my _child, and he shall follow me wherever I go!"_

_Floreus turned to Gabriel. "Please," she begged, "take the child. He has had no part in this war-"_

_"Give me my son! He is_ mine_!" Samael continued to roar and fight against his bonds. "Give me my child, you whore!"_

_"Please, Gabriel," she wept, falling to her knees. "He is innocent! Do not punish him for our sins!"_

_The Archangel regarded Samael and Floreus for a moment, then called forth Uriel for counsel. They spoke quietly to one another before nodding their heads in agreement. "It is settled, then. The child shall fall with the rest of the traitors."_

_"NO!" Floreus screamed. "You can't do this to him! He has done nothing wrong-"_

_"_However_," Gabriel thundered, silencing Floreus' sobs, "he will carry no mark of judgment upon his being. Truly is the child innocent, as Floreus has said. Though he shall fall with the others, he is granted permission to some day, of his own will, return to Heaven if he so chooses, and reclaim his holy name. He must be free of sin and possess the virtues of our people, for if he becomes tainted with evil-" Gabriel sent a hateful glare at Samael. "-he shall remain among the fallen forever."_

_The Archangel's golden staff struck the ground, announcing that the decision was final. Floreus pressed Damael to her breast as she was led away. Half of her heart was happy that she wouldn't be separated from her child, but the other half mourned the trials he would face growing up in a world so far from love and light._

† † †

Blackheart raised his blue eyes to his mother's face. "We have been tricked," he murmured. "Johnny discovered that Rizfadael lied to us about Father having six of the Seals."

"I knew it," Lilith muttered. "I _knew_ no angel would help a demon. That slimy son of a bitch."

"So that means Mephistopheles only has five of the Seals," Johnny said. "He was trying to throw us off, make us think he had more power."

"Alright: if _he_ has five, and _you_ have the Sword of Valor," Lilith pointed to her son, then paused. "Then . . . Where is the seventh?"

Blackheart raised his hand, the one that wore the silver ring. "Here," he said. "You gave it to me long ago."

Lilith's mouth opened in disbelief. "My ring? No. No, it can't be."

"Where did you get that ring, Lilith?" Blaze asked.

"I . . ." She trailed off, her eyes going distant as she traveled back in time. "I found it in the garden one day, amongst the flowers. I, I used to tend to the growing things — that was my duty, you know, in Heaven. And that ring, it was just lying in a bed of orchids. I should have returned it, but it fit my finger so well and it just made me feel so . . ." She tried to find the word but could not; there was no word powerful enough in any language to describe it.

She blinked, suddenly returning to the present. Johnny and Blackheart were watching her, silent. "It couldn't be the Seventh Seal. _That_ is the Circle of Fidelity?"

"The Ring of Love, yes," her son whispered. "Mother, this ring gains power through love, just like the sword gains power through valor."

"It glows when that happens," Johnny added. "Did you see the sword last night? It lit up like Vegas when Blackheart killed Belial. It was because he summoned the courage to defeat that evil bastard."

Lilith's eyes moved between Johnny and Blackheart. "And how did you find out that this ring is the Seal?"

Blaze locked up, mortified. Blackheart began to stutter. The demoness arched an eyebrow. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. What matters is we get the hell out of Phoenix before Mephisto catches on. If he finds out that we found out-"

"I think we need to do more than just run," said Blackheart, nodding to Johnny.

"We need to tell Heaven," the man finished. "They're the only ones who can help us now."

"Angels?" Lilith's expression became cold. "Michael and Gabriel and all those other holier-than-thou types? Forget it. You'd be wasting your time. They would never lower themselves to help the likes of us."

"Even if we're on their side?" Blackheart asked.

"It's a matter of principle. They have nothing to do with the fallen."

"But they've got to help us! Father is going to force the Apocalypse and start a war with Heaven again, and he can't do that unless he's got all seven Seals. If we go to the angels with the two remaining Seals, they'll see that we're true and-"

"Have you thought about where you're going to find these angels, Atrocor? You can't just pick up a phone and call them. 'Hello, may I please speak to the Archangel Michael? Yes, I have some lost items that he might be interested in having returned.' Do you know how _insane_ that sounds?"

Blackheart put his hands on his mother's shoulders and looked her in the eye. "Vatican City. The Holy See. There are bound to be angels there who will hear us out."

"And if they don't listen to you," Johnny said, "they might listen to me. I've got no stakes in this, except for being possessed by the Spirit of Vengeance . . . but maybe they'll understand."

Lilith shook her head stubbornly. "No, this is not a good idea. Who's to say that even _if_ we can convince a few angels to tell Heaven we're genuine that they won't turn on us and kill us?"

"Angels aren't demons, Mother," Blackheart sighed impatiently. "They wouldn't betray us like that."

The demoness looked squarely at her son. "And what do _ you_ know about angels, Atrocor? You've never even seen one before, aside from that two-timing eel Rizfadael, and frankly I wouldn't call him an angel. It's only a matter of time before the monsters of Hell get their hooks into him. Then _poof_. Bye-bye, pretty wings. Bye-bye, halo. Soon he'll be as ugly as the rest of us. It'd certainly suit him."

"Lilith," Johnny interrupted her tirade, "what other options have we got?"

"We could stay away from Vatican City and just keep moving. Try to find some other way to-"

"I don't want to run for the rest of my life, Mother!" Blackheart cried. "Why are you so afraid of facing your-"

"Because I almost lost you!" she shouted, causing her son to draw back in surprise. "If anything happened to you, I-!" Her lips began trembling and she looked as if she could burst into tears. "I don't know what I would do."

Johnny put a gentle hand on Lilith's shoulder. "Remember what you said yesterday? No more running?"

She reluctantly nodded.

"Then let's give this a shot. It's our only hope."

Lilith wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her bathrobe. "You know that if we use our powers to get to the Holy See, every demon on Earth will come running for us, right?"

"It's a risk we'll have to take," Blackheart said, reaching out and holding his mother's hands in his own.

Lilith smiled sadly, looking at her small hands in her son's larger ones. "If it's what you want, baby, I'll do it."

Blackheart smiled back and gave Lilith's hands a squeeze. "You'll see, Mother. Everything will be fine."

"Remember," Blaze added with a wink, "your kid took out the Big Bad Belial. Any demon that comes after us has a death wish."

Lilith laughed softly and Blackheart bit his lip to hide the huge grin on his face. He liked the sound of her laughter, and seeing her smile was a rare pleasure. "I know, Johnny. And I'm very proud of him." She leaned forward to kiss her son's cheek, but paused halfway there.

Blackheart's eyes filled with sudden fear, because he knew what she was looking at.

"Atrocor," she said in an astonished tone, "you . . . Are you wearing _makeup_?"

"No!" he said, horrified.

"Then why are your cheeks pink? And they're hot, too! You're a demon, you're not supposed to . . . JOHNNY!"

The man jumped up from the bed with a hasty line of "I better go check on the bike," and was out of the room before Lilith could accuse him of spoiling her son. With a sigh she turned to look at Blackheart, and combed a hand through his messy sleep-hair. "I swear, if he doesn't stop polluting you with all that mortal food . . ."

"It's okay. Really. It makes me feel better."

"Yeah, for the moment," Lilith snapped. "But when you start getting emotional about silly things like music and old paintings, and you begin to fall victim to your sympathies, you're going to want to throw up everything you've ever eaten."

"I haven't felt like that yet," Blackheart replied stubbornly. "I think this whole thing about human food is just a myth."

"Oh really? You mean you haven't done something just to make yourself feel happy? You haven't done anything that made your heart pound and your blood get hot?" She leaned close, whispering. "I wasn't born yesterday, Atrocor. And I don't think I was the first one to make you blush."

Blackheart swallowed dryly, his discomfort apparent. "You're getting worried over nothing. We should get ready to leave." He rose stiffly from the bed and went to gather his clothes.

Lilith gazed at him and sighed. It was painfully obvious that he was in love, even though he was still demon enough not to admit it. It would fade soon, she thought. He was already learning to be a human.

† † †

In the parking deck of the hotel, Johnny checked his bike for injury. Only a few scrapes and scratches, nothing serious. He was expecting a lot worse after the torture it had undergone during the battle with Belial. Apparently this old bike was able to take the abuse of being the new Hellcycle.

Johnny crouched down to inspect the engine and smiled to himself. "I need to think of a name for you," he said to the bike. "You deserve one after last night."

His thoughts wandered as he tinkered around, checking the oil and the spark plug and the tires. As much as he tried to concentrate on the future — about seeing Rome for the first time and hunting down an angel who could help them — his thoughts kept returning to the past. Not the distant past; the immediate past. The past that was this morning. The past that was the kiss.

Johnny felt goose bumps rise on his arms as he remembered the feeling of Blackheart's soft lips against his own, the scent of skin and blueberries in his nose, the terrible urge to keep going all the way, even though it was a demon that he was kissing. But those eyes . . . There was nothing demonic about them. Blackheart had been born an angel, and it showed in that shade of sky blue.

Blaze shook his head, clearing the tempting vision from him mind. He wondered though, with the demonic power of the Ghost Rider possessing his body, if it was Zarathos who liked Blackheart and not Johnny. The thought worried him, among others: was this just a confused chapter in his life, or did he truly feel something for Blackheart? What kind of a future did they have, if they had one at all? What if they failed in their mission to stop the Apocalypse? What if they didn't? Would Blackheart even want to associate himself with a human, one of the most despised creatures of the immortal realms?

The questions kept filling Johnny's head until they were all tangled together in a big black mass. The sound of approaching footsteps suddenly broke the mass apart and sent it scattering off into the back of his mind. He turned to see Blackheart step out from between two cars, dressed in his long coat and bloodstained shirt and vest. Even in the bad lighting of the parking deck, the demon's complexion was rosy and alive. The white pallor that Blaze had seen when they had been enemies was utterly gone, and he looked completely human.

"Johnny," said Blackheart, the corners of his mouth curling upward.

Blaze stood. "Hey, kiddo. How's the shoulder?"

Blackheart put a hand over the tear in his vest, where white bandages showed through. "It's a little sore, but not a big problem. Um. I, I came down here because I wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah?" Johnny asked, pretending to be occupied with adjusting the mirrors on the handlebars. "What's on your mind?"

"You."

Johnny looked up. Blackheart was fidgeting nervously, and the color of his cheeks already gave him away. "It's about this morning, isn't it?"

The demon nodded. "Yes. I was thinking that . . . I think that we should do that again sometime."

"Have breakfast?" Blaze said, knowing full well what Blackheart meant.

"No. Well, yes, but. But what happened after breakfast. _ That_."

"Get happy and jump around?"

"No! _After._"

"Jeez, since when are demons so goddamn shy? Just come out and say what you-"

"The kiss!" Blackheart snapped impatiently. "_Our_ kiss, when we put our lips together, the_ kiss_."

"Woah, don't get so bent outta shape," Johnny teased. "It was just a kiss."

"Yeah, well . . . I was thinking. We should do it again."

Blaze sighed melodramatically. "Oh, I don't know," he said airily. "I'm gonna have to look at my schedule first, make sure I've got time. I might be able to squeeze you in around noon on Thursday, but after that I'm booked for-" He stopped short when he saw the open-mouthed expression of horror, indignation and flat-out scandal on Blackheart's face.

Johnny couldn't help but to laugh out loud. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he chuckled. "That was mean of me. I was only kidding. My bad. C'mere, you're starting to scare me." He held out his arm. "C'mon, don't be mad at me."

Blackheart narrowed his eyes in annoyance, but could not resist smirking. He walked closer, and when he got within arm's reach of Johnny, the man grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him forward, pressing him against one of the concrete pillars of the parking garage. A surprised look came to the demon's face as Blaze grasped his collar in both fists.

"How about now?" Johnny murmured. "Would now be good?"

Blackheart's eyes became dark with want. "Yes." He reached up and grasped the sides of Johnny's head, pulling him forward.

They met with open mouths this time, and devoured the kiss between them. Johnny didn't know if this was Blackheart's first brush with intimacy, due to his unusual submission and shyness, but he was a fast learner. And he was also insatiable.

The demon leaned forward, pushing against Johnny and sliding his hands into the man's leather jacket. Blaze reached down and grasped Blackheart's slender waist, his hands roaming down the tight black leather to take hold of his hips. Just for the hell of it he decided to be bold; he pressed Blackheart against the pillar and gave an experimental thrust, grinding his hips into the demon's.

"Ah!" Blackheart broke the heated kiss to yelp, then clapped a hand over his own mouth as the echo bounced off the walls of the parking deck.

Blaze loosened his grip. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm moving too fast."

"No," Blackheart shook his head, still a bit breathless. "No, I liked it. I just . . . felt . . ." He met Johnny's eyes and immediately looked away, letting his arms hang by his sides. "I can't believe what we're doing."

"Me, either," Johnny agreed calmly. "I think I've gone outta my fucking mind, to tell the truth."

"What's wrong with us, Johnny? This feels so good, but it's . . . I mean, why _us_? Why _now_?"

"I don't know, Blackheart. Love doesn't make sense all the time."

The demon kept looking away and muttered, "How do you even know this is love?"

"I don't." Johnny took Blackheart's chin and turned his head so that their eyes met. "But I _do_ know that I care about you, kiddo." He brushed the dark hair from the demon's eyes. "And I care about your mom. I want you both to be happy, and I'll do everything I can to help make that happen."

"But _why_?" Blackheart demanded. "Why do that? You owe us nothing. If anything, we've made your life a living hell. We've-"

"That doesn't matter. It's the past, and we can't do nothing about it now." Blaze softened his tone. "I guess I first helped you because I had no choice. But now . . . I've seen that there is some light in that black heart of yours, and I wanna see it shine when this is all over." He gathered Blackheart into a gentle embrace, and the demon found himself returning it, though he didn't know why. Tears stung his unblinking eyes, and the love he felt for Johnny Blaze grew twofold.

The sound of high heels caused them to let go and put a respectable distance between each other before Lilith came into view, wearing a black trench coat over her suit. "Alright. I got us checked out and we're ready to go. It's a little past noon right now, so it should be well into evening in Italy. And don't think for one second I don't know what's going on between you two, because I'm not blind and I'm certainly not stupid. And just for future reference, the next time you two decide to make out in a parking deck, be sure that nobody can see you."

Johnny inexplicably choked on his own spit and began to cough, and all of that healthy beige skin tone that Blackheart had acquired abruptly drained out of his face.

"Men," Lilith shook her head, watching Johnny fight to get air back into his lungs. "Always trying to be macho." She narrowed her eyes at her son and raised her finger. "And you, Atrocor. You should have told me sooner. I don't like it when my own child doesn't trust me enough to tell me what's on his mind."

"I. I'm sorry," Blackheart stuttered meekly. "I didn't know how you'd react if I . . . told you I . . ."

Lilith smiled, radiating maternal warmth. "Sweetie, I'm your mother. You can tell me anything." She glanced at Johnny. "Except for the hardcore details. You can keep those to yourself."

Even Johnny began to turn red. Eager to change the subject, he gave one last cough and said, "So how're we gonna do this teleportation thing? Hold hands and think happy thoughts?"

"Get on the bike," Lilith instructed. "You too, Atrocor."

"Should I start it?" Johnny asked.

"No need." She walked to the front of the bike and leaned forward, grabbing the handlebars in both hands. "Baby, make sure you've got a good hold on Johnny. We don't want to lose him during transit."

Blaze felt Blackheart's arms wrap snugly around his waist, but even that didn't help him feel any better about this. He was getting the last-minute jitters. "Wait," he said, "this is safe for humans, right? It's not gonna kill me or mess up my guts, is it?"

"You're part demon, Johnny," Lilith explained, sighing. "You'll be fine."

"My bike, too?"

"Yes, my pretty. And your little bike, too."

"It's okay, Johnny," Blackheart grinned. "You're a maniac stunt man. Just close your eyes and pretend you're jumping cars."

Blaze smiled a little, his taut muscles relaxing. That little reality check did kind of reassure him, surprisingly. Blackheart seemed to know just what to say to make him-

Lilith closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. "Three, two-"

"Oh God," were the last words Johnny uttered before he felt himself come apart like a Lego tower, piece by piece. He was aware of a weightless feeling before his vision dissolved into dark blue and black, and he was suddenly falling — or rising — through the universe. He heard the sound of his own speed, a constant high-pitched scream. Or maybe that was himself screaming. He didn't know. And suddenly, before he could frighten himself any further, he felt himself come back together. He was incredibly heavy for a split second, a million pounds all pressing down on him, and then everything around him sprung back like a rubber band.

He smelled car exhaust and oranges. He opened his eyes. The street was dark, and the lamps running along it were bright. Stone buildings crowded the narrow street, and orange trees ran in a row down the sidewalk. Flowering plants hung from windows, and the cars parked on the side of the street had unfamiliar license plates.

Lilith opened her eyes and stood back, letting go of the handlebars. "I haven't been here in ages," she said, looking around. "Looks like it hasn't changed much."

Johnny heaved a sigh of relief, but he felt even better when he heard Blackheart chuckle, "Welcome to Italy, Johnny. _Parla l'italiano?_"

"No," Blaze answered flatly. "The closest I've ever been to Italy is Domino's Pizza. And don't expect me to learn it. My high school French teacher thought she could do the same, and I sure showed her a thing or two."

Blackheart patted Johnny's shoulder. "One of the conveniences of being a demon," he said smugly. "We can speak and understand any human tongue, even the dead ones."

"Don't brag, Atrocor," Lilith chided. "It's bad manners. Hn. Probably something you picked up from your father. He never cared about good etiquette. Your patience could use some work, too. First thing I'm doing after all this mess is over is enrolling you in finishing school. You'll learn to be a proper gentleman demon like they were five centuries ago-"

Blackheart mocked his mother's lecture by making a yapping gesture with his hand and rolling his eyes. Johnny held in his laughter. What a kid. Even his annoying behavior was endearing.

"Uh, Lilith," Blaze interrupted.

"Yes, what?"

"Are we gonna look for an angel or what?"

"Right. Yes. Sorry. I tend to get carried away." She glanced down the street. A few people were out, but they were mostly tourists negotiating the bus routes. "Alright. Down this avenue and turn left. That'll take you past the Vatican museum. Keep left when you come to St Peter's Square, and follow that road. It's full of historical buildings, and there are bound to be some sort of ethereal beings lurking there."

"Aren't you coming with us?" Johnny asked.

"Somebody has to make sure we're not being followed. You two go ahead. I'll meet up with you at the basilica."

"If you say so," Blaze said, and started the bike with a kick.

"Be careful, Mom," Blackheart said, giving her a serious look.

Lilith smiled with absolute adoration at the casual title, and resisted the urge to kiss her son goodbye. He was a grown demon, after all, and he didn't belong to her alone anymore. She waved briefly before they rumbled down the street and turned left at the corner, and she began walking in the opposite direction. She was still smiling.

"Mom," she giggled.

† † †

Johnny and Blackheart cruised slowly down the darkened streets of Vatican City, the headlight reflecting off the pavement in front of them. "So how do you tell who's an angel and who isn't?" Blaze asked.

"You can smell them for one thing," Blackheart answered, keeping his head held high and his nose to the wind. "Even Rizfadael couldn't catch me by surprise. I knew he wasn't human the minute I became aware of him."

"What do angels smell like?"

"I can't describe it. It's like ozone, only cooler."

"Uh huh . . ."

"Just keep driving. Leave the searching up to me."

Johnny sighed. "You're the navigator."

One hour passed. They circled blocks, stopping here and there to investigate whenever Blackheart got wind of something strange. But these searches always ended up empty-handed. "It smells so different here," he muttered, perhaps embarrassed by his constant failures. "So much power. There are forces good and evil here, but mostly it's the humans that stink everything up."

"Do I stink to you?" Johnny asked, just for laughs.

Blackheart grinned at the opportunity to taunt. "Yeah, you smell like a man. Sweat and hair and skin, all sorts of disgusting things."

"_You_ seem to tolerate it rather well."

"Probably because you've got some demon in you."

Blaze smirked. "Nah. I think you've got a crush on me."

"A crush?"

"You want me to be your valentine and everything."

"That's sick!" Blackheart cried. "Saint Valentine — ugh!"

"You wanna make red paper hearts and write poems-"

"Stop it!"

"And then you're gonna grow your hair out and cut yourself if I ignore you-"

"Huh?"

"Those kids, y'know? There's a group, they've got a name . . ."

"Goth?"

"No, something else."

"Ska?"

"No."

"Emo?"

"Maybe. Hey, how come you know about all this subculture crap but you don't even know what pizza is?"

Blackheart shrugged. "Kids go to Hell, too. You start recognizing them."

Another hour passed. And another. And another. Finally Johnny turned the bike around. "It's getting really late. Or early. We should go meet your mom now."

Not wanting to give up after so much work, but tired of fruitless quests, Blackheart sighed heavily and agreed. They made their way toward St Peter's Piazza once more. The demon rested his head against Johnny's back, who seemed to sense that he was feeling depressed.

"Don't worry, kiddo," he said. "We'll find somebody if we look long enough."

Blackheart didn't answer, but stared dejectedly at the passing scenery. When they reached the wide piazza framed by a circle of white colonnades, Johnny cut the engine and put down the kickstand. Lilith appeared from the shadows, giving Blaze a start. "I guess you didn't find anyone," she said, looking at the two tired faces in front of her.

"No luck yet," Johnny confessed, dismounting and stretching. "I didn't know angels were so hard to find here."

"They weren't in the past," Lilith said, leaning against one of the columns and crossing her arms. "Hundreds of years ago they used to be crawling all over Rome. London and Israel, too. Partly the architecture, partly the history, but mostly it's being close to a center of holiness that makes these places so attractive to angels. It's a working vacation sort of thing; every heavenly being has to do some time on Earth. They call it Acquisition. Of course, the guardians don't count. They're here all the time."

"You mean like guardian angels?" Johnny asked.

"I guess you could call them that, the angels that are bound to watch over and guide mortals and keep them from harm by demonic forces. It's the most dangerous job and angel could have. They could fall, be killed, forced into slavery, the list goes on." She sighed, looking up at the sky. "I guess the whole world has become too dangerous for them."

Johnny sat down on the curb. "So what do we do now?"

"Wait until morning," Lilith answered, striding over to the bike. "Maybe some humans might be willing to help us. Priests, nuns, people who would know."

Blaze massaged the bridge of his nose. "And until then?"

Lilith glanced across the street at the rows of historic buildings. "Shack up in one of those places for the night. Nobody lives in them, and it'd be a good idea to stay out of sight for a while. I don't think we're being tracked, but I'd hate to be wrong." She turned her attention to her son, and ran her fingers through his black hair. "You doing alright, sweetie? Your shoulder isn't bothering you?"

"It's fine," Blackheart muttered, leaning his head against her side. "Stupid fucking angels. They're never around when you really need them."

† † †

Along the boulevard just south of the Vatican was a series of apartments that dated back to some ungodly prehistoric era before electricity and plumbing, although renovations had been made over the years. There was a rusty pump on the lower floor of one of the apartments that spewed out water that tasted like old nails, but there was no power at all in the entire building.

Blackheart immediately took to the stairs and disappeared, and Johnny and Lilith remained on the first floor, throwing together a weathered old table and some cracking crates so that they could sit down and talk. Johnny wasn't tired, even though it was probably three in the morning—his internal clock told him that it wasn't even sundown in Phoenix yet.

"So what are we going to say to this angel if we find them?" Blaze asked, his jacket tossed on top of the table and his sleeves rolled up.

"I don't think we'll have to say much," Lilith replied, tapping her nails on the wood. "We'll show them the Sword of Valor and the Ring of Fidelity, and that'll be all the convincing they'll need."

"Yeah, but what's gonna make them believe that we're not trying to deceive them?"

Lilith shook her head. "They're just gonna have to believe us." In the faint moonlight coming in through the windows, she looked tired, and the lines on her face were beginning to tell her age. She still looked young; young enough to be an older girlfriend of Blackheart's, but her aura was as ancient as time. All of this adventure was beginning to take its toll on her, and Johnny reached across the table and put his hand over her smaller one.

"Faith," he said, recalling his dream. "Trust. They're both blind, but I've found out for myself how powerful even blind virtues can be." He gave Lilith's hand a squeeze and smiled at her encouragingly. "We're gonna get through this together. Those angels _are_ gonna believe us, and when all hell breaks loose, we're gonna step aside and let them do their job. Our part will be over, Lilith. And when they finish kicking Mephisto's ass, you and Blackheart are gonna be free."

"And what are you going to do after this?" she asked, blinking to stop herself from crying.

"Well. I guess what I was doing before this all began. Keep riding, keep moving. The Spirit of Vengeance never rests."

"Sounds like a lonely life, Johnny."

Blaze nodded. "Yeah, it does. But that's how it's gotta be."

"I wouldn't say that."

He looked up to see Lilith gazing at him with and intense look in her blue eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You . . . You don't _ have_ to be alone," she said, trying to be delicate with her words. "Maybe you could stay with us for a while. Help us . . . H-help us learn to make a home of this world."

Johnny took a long breath inward and seemed to realize what she was saying. "Lilith, you know I care about you. You know I care about your son. But you're not gonna need me in your life. I'm . . . I mean, I'm just carnie trash who happened to get lucky, that's all. And I've got this curse that'll be burning under my skin until the day I die. When you're demon-possessed and out killing the wicked every night of the year, you're not gonna wanna stay in the same place for very long. And the road is no place for a family."

Lilith held onto Johnny's hand when he tried to pull away. There was desperation in her eyes. "But we need you, Johnny. Blackheart needs you. You're the only person he's ever trusted, the only man he's ever looked up to . . . The only man who's ever treated him right. The same thing goes for me. I just . . . I don't know what we'd do without you. You've been so good to us."

Johnny smiled despite himself and held her hand. "Sounds like you're asking me to settle down. I don't know if I'm ready for family life just yet. I mean, I've never really had one myself. My dad . . ." He shook his head. "The point is, you're gonna get so caught up with moving on that before you know it, you won't even think about me anymore."

"That's not true," she said stubbornly.

"Yes, it is. That's what happens. Life goes on." He paused, and watched two tears roll down Lilith's pale cheeks. "But . . . I understand that you're gonna need some help adjusting to mortal life. I'll stick around for a little while, just until you and Blackheart are on your feet again. How does that sound?"

"Better than nothing," she answered, laughing a little through her tears. "That boy's going to need looking after, and I don't think I could do it alone. You've been doing so good with him . . . Even _I_ couldn't turn him around so quickly." She sniffed, looking down at her lap. "He really loves you, you know. I used to think that it was impossible, being a demon, but he's not really a demon anymore, is he?" She ran her sleeve across her eyes.

"No," Johnny murmured. "He's something else."

† † †

With a crack the wooden shutters opened on the top floor window, and moonlight spilled over Blackheart. He winced, waiting for the dust to settle, then leaned against the long, narrow window frame, gazing out at the city. His overcoat lay draped over a nearby chair, along with the Sword of Valor. The room had been a parlor or bedroom once; a pair of sheet-covered old sofas sat in the middle of the floor, and beside them was a chaise with moth-eaten reddish upholstery. End tables and shelves cluttered the far wall, and the air was stale, but at least it was quiet. He needed to be alone right now. He needed time to think.

Blackheart gazed out at Rome. The silhouettes of rooftops and chimneys, antennas and clotheslines stood black against the dark blue sky. In the distance one could barely make out the line of low mountains. They would be beautiful in the light of the sunrise. Thin clouds streaked across the white face of the moon, and somewhere in the city came the sounds of a dog barking faintly, accordion music, the buzz of a moped, a church bell chiming four.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Steel and blossoming orange trees. Flowers and diesel fumes. Spice and wet newspapers. There was beauty and pollution, art and graffiti, all things pretty and ugly that he had never bothered to notice until now. He knew this world was getting to him. He could feel himself changing. He could feel something tightening in his chest, and he knew he was becoming sentimental, just like a human. But it was impossible to live in a world like this and never taste, touch, smell all of the things that life had to offer.

In his mind, Blackheart ran through a green field, chasing butterflies while his mother looked on. The memory was faded, almost gone, but he held on to it desperately, afraid of forgetting. Just like he'd held on to his gift.

He opened his eyes and looked down at the silver ring on his finger. It was more than one of the Sacred Seals — it was a testament of undying love, not a weapon. He valued it more than the price any angel could put on it. His mother had worn it when he was still sleeping inside of her, and now it was his. She would never leave him, always love him.

His heart clenched. _ Never leave him. Always love him._

Blackheart heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, and the creak of the door as it opened. He didn't turn, didn't need to see to know who it was.

Johnny walked over and stood by the window, staring out with Blackheart. "Nice night," he said. "This place really _does_ have great weather."

Blackheart didn't say anything for a while. When he next spoke, his voice was hoarse, as if he was on the verge of losing it: "How do you know what love is?"

Johnny turned to look at him, but didn't reply.

"You can't touch it or smell it or taste it," Blackheart continued, "not like the rest of the world."

"No," said Johnny quietly. "It has to be felt."

"How do you know what it feels like?"

"Hard to say. It's different for everybody."

"Then how do you know it's real? How do you know it's not just your mind playing tricks on you?"

Blaze shrugged. "I don't know all of the answers, kiddo. All I know is, whatever I feel must be real, otherwise I wouldn't be feeling anything."

Blackheart blinked a few times. "Is that what it means to be human?"

"I wouldn't know. I've never been anything else."

The demon stood still for another moment before he turned to face Johnny, and began to unbutton his vest. Blaze stared, riveted, and watched Blackheart undo his shirt as well. White bandages and beige flesh came into view, and Blackheart took Johnny's hand and pressed it to his bare chest. "Do you feel that?" he asked, eyes searching the man's face for an absolution.

Johnny nodded, feeling the gentle thud of a heart pulsing beneath his palm. "Yeah," he whispered.

Blackheart seemed relieved. "Then it's real," he said, almost to himself. He let go of Johnny's hand and began to button his shirt.

"Wait," Johnny said, and Blackheart paused. He stepped forward and pushed aside the pale fingers, unbuttoned the dark gray shirt until it hung open. He reached up, slipping his hands beneath Blackheart's collar and down his smooth shoulders, causing both shirt and vest to fall away. He heard Blackheart's breath quicken. Johnny slid his hands down the demon's arms, the shirt landed on the floor, half in and half out of the rectangle of moonlight. He drew closer, took Blackheart by the chin, and leaned forward.

Arms hesitantly lifted to wrap around Blaze's shoulders, timid at first, then bold. They grew tighter, fists clutching his shirt, and when they broke the kiss to breathe, Blackheart gasped, "John. Johnny-"

That was all Blaze needed to hear. Knowing full well what he was doing, and knowing full well that what he was doing was crazy, he reached down and hooked his fingers through the belt loops of Blackheart's pants, pulled him backward into the shadows. They collapsed onto the chaise with a thud, demon atop man, kissing each other ravenously. Johnny wrestled off his shirt and tossed it aside, not caring about anything anymore except for the creature above him. He knew this was happening too fast, that neither of them was ready. He knew he was being stupid and irresponsible — God only knew what consequences would come when demons and men lay together — and he knew he'd probably regret this in the morning.

But Blackheart . . .

The demon moaned lowly, a ragged whisper, and rocked himself on Johnny's hips, enjoying the friction against his flesh. Johnny stared at him, entranced by the darkness of his hair, the rosy color of his cheeks, his young and slender body. It was like a beautiful hallucination, and Blaze was tripping out of his mind with desire.

He took Blackheart by the hips and sat up, forcing him onto his back. Johnny sat back on his knees and wrestled off the demon's black boots, dropped them to the floor, then reached for the button of his pants. Hands suddenly grasped his wrists, and he looked up to see fear in Blackheart's eyes. "I've never done this," he uttered. "I've never even been . . ."

God he was beautiful. He had no idea. Johnny leaned down and kissed him. "Don't worry. It's okay," he whispered. "It's me. I won't hurt you. Trust me. Just trust me . . ."

Blackheart bit his lip, buried his hands in Johnny's dark auburn hair, trusted the man with his life. And a little while later, when he and Johnny ceased to be two separate beings, he caught a glimpse of Paradise for the first time, and tears squeezed out from behind his tightly shut eyes as he repeated Johnny's name over and over.

The ring glowed softly all night long.


	11. When Angels Die

**﻿When Angels Die**

How they'd fallen asleep, Johnny would never know. He awoke to the sound of pigeons cooing on the roof outside and a church bell chiming ten. He blinked, tried to move, but discovered that he was wrapped around a warm, naked body.

Blackheart.

Blaze waited for the holy-shit-God-just-kill-me-please feeling of horror and regret to hit him, but he felt nothing. Well. He felt something, but it certainly wasn't regret.

He propped himself up on one elbow and slipped his arm around Blackheart's waist, pressing a kiss on his bandaged shoulder. "Hey. You awake?" he whispered.

Blackheart made a sleepy noise in his throat and slowly began to shift. "Mm. Hm?" He rolled over onto his back, and Johnny felt like he could die right then and there when he saw those blue eyes blink and look up at him. "Hmm. Hey," Blackheart murmured, smiling slightly and putting a hand over his eyes to shade them from the sunlight.

"Hey," Johnny answered, grinning. "It's morning."

"I know."

"Your mom must be wondering what happened to us." Blaze sat up and grabbed his pants from the floor, pulling them on.

"I doubt that," Blackheart said with a yawn, not moving. "I think she knows exactly where we are."

"I was trying not to think about that."

"How do you think _I_ feel?" He suddenly began to laugh. "I bet the whole goddamn neighborhood heard me lose my virginity last night."

Johnny shook his head as Blackheart continued to laugh it up. At least he wasn't crying about it. That would be worse. The idea of a virgin demon was something Blaze had never considered, and he would have never guessed it, especially not someone as young and handsome as Blackheart. But then again, Johnny thought, Lilith was definitely an overprotective mother and she'd probably die before seeing him make the same mistake as she did long ago. That and the fact that demons were immortal, and therefore had no need to have sex for survival's sake, made it almost understandable that Blackheart would be a stranger to the carnal acts of humans. Blaze tried to put it out of his mind and concentrate on the day ahead of him, because thinking about last night was only getting him hot and bothered.

He sat down to pull on his boots and Blackheart rose up behind him, beginning to playfully bite him. The demon seemed to be in the mood for mischief, but Johnny was determined to be the adult in this situation. "Hey. Ow. Knock it off, what're you doing? Stop that. You've got pointy teeth, kiddo. Is that my shirt? Give it back, we need to get dress —_ ow_! Okay, that's it. Come here!"

Blackheart laughed as Johnny tried to wrestle his shirt from him, but Blaze ended up biting back and they both got tangled in each other's limbs, and before too long Blackheart had his fist between his teeth to keep from shouting as Johnny made love to him for a fourth time. They lay beside each other afterward, hot and breathless, grinning like a couple of unruly teens who'd just gotten away with something naughty. Unfortunately, during the naughtiness the bandages on Blackheart's shoulder had come loose and created an awful tangle around his right arm, but the demon just shrugged and decided to pull the whole thing off.

As the gauze fell away strip by strip, Johnny caught his breath: a pale, smooth shoulder met his astonished gaze, perfect and unscarred, as uninjured as it had been before the fight with Belial. In fact, all of the marks and bruises on Blackheart's body from his hellish imprisonment were gone, and his pale skin seemed to glow with health and newness.

"When did _this_ happen?" Johnny asked, brushing his hand over the demon's shoulder.

"I don't know," he answered coyly, then drew the man forward to meet his lips. "Maybe while you were fucking me last night . . ."

Johnny responded by pushing Blackheart onto his back and letting himself melt into the soft, warm wetness of his mouth. He would never get tired of this, not even if he lived forever — eternity just wasn't long enough.

The church bells were clanging to the sound of eleven o'clock by the time they both crawled off the chaise and hastily pulled their clothes on. With a breathless rush they smoothed their disheveled hair, tucked in their shirts, and tried to keep their hands off each other as they went down the stairs. On the second floor landing Johnny had about all he could stand of Blackheart nipping at his ear, and slammed the demon against the wall to give him a hard, punishing kiss. After a few more seconds of juvenile thrills and groping, they pulled themselves together and went down the stairs, trying to keep their faces straight.

Lilith looked up from a pile of tourist pamphlets, smiling. "Good _afternoon_," she said archly. "Sleep well last night?"

"No," they replied in unison, completely serious.

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

Johnny put a hand over his eyes, thinking that Lilith was probably a _lot_ sorrier to hear that. He sat down at the makeshift table and picked up one of the brochures. "So what's this? Are we gonna go sight-seeing?"

"Something like that," she said, grabbing another pamphlet. "If we can find a holy site, like a catacomb or a small church somewhere, we might get lucky. No respectable priest or angel would hang around a crowded tourist area." She pursed her lips and she thumbed through the brochures.

Blackheart came up behind Johnny and leaned on his shoulders, reading the pamphlet he was holding. "_Catacombe di Priscilla_?" he asked.

"Sounds like the burial plot of the Presley family," Blaze said. "It doesn't look like much from the photos. Wanna check it out?"

"I've got some other places I'd like to visit first," Lilith said, giving a glance at Johnny's brochure. "But yeah, I'll add that to the list. Make note of the address. I don't want to go on a wild goose chase all over Rome. If we can start from here and work our way outward, it'd save us a lot of time. And the sooner we find someone who can help us, the better off we'll be."

Johnny nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me. There's just one problem."

Lilith waited.

"I don't think the three of us will fit on my bike."

"Then we'll walk," she answered curtly. "Trust me, you don't want to negotiate with the traffic here. It's bad. We'll make much better time on foot." She stood up and grabbed a handful of fliers, shoving them into the pocket of her trench coat. "I'm ready if you two are."

"Sure," Johnny nodded, standing up. He had to admit he was a little bit excited about walking around Rome, but business first. He and Blackheart followed Lilith to the door. She stepped out onto the street, but just as Blaze was crossing the threshold, Blackheart grabbed his jacket and yanked him back inside. He pressed Johnny against the wall and kissed him urgently, like it was going to be the last intimate moment they would ever have, and it was all Blaze could do to keep control of himself. They parted with a gasp, and Blackheart smiled wickedly, still grasping Johnny's collar. "That should hold me over for now." He stuck out his tongue and licked the man's lips. "But I'm going to need more of this tonight."

Johnny leaned his head back on the wall and closed his eyes. "God," he groaned, "I've created a monster."

† † †

Mephistopheles strode along the narrow walkway overlooking an immense fiery chasm, glaring down at the overseers whipping enslaved souls as they labored below. Rizfadael followed dutifully at his side. The lord of Hell tapped his cane as he walked, and Malinda trailed behind him, watching the activity down below.

"Have you been able to find them again, Rizfadael?" asked Mephisto.

"Not yet, my lord," the angel replied hastily. "I was only alerted of their absence not long ago, and your forces are hard at work picking up on their trail."

"Lilith," Mephisto scoffed to himself, "were you really foolish enough to use your powers to flee Phoenix? Or are you trying to deceive me, lead me down the wrong path . . . ?"

"Daddy, what's that?" Malinda interrupted, pointing to a massive tangle of gigantic gears and sprockets; moaning souls pushed against them, mercilessly whipped by their masters, and the heavy metal gears rumbled as they turned.

"That is the great timepiece of the underworld, my dear," Mephisto said to her, "the clock which counts the hours and minutes here in Hell."

"Why is it moving like that, Daddy?"

"Because it is counting mortal hours right now, my child, not the hours of our world. It will tick faster again, once you and I return to Earth."

The little girl continued to gaze down at the clockwork as a very worried-looking demon approached and bowed before Mephisto. "My lord!" he barked. "We have found Lilith and Atrocor once more."

"Excellent. Where are they?"

"It appears they are in Rome, sire."

Rizfadael's mouth fell open in shock. He sprang forward and grabbed the demon by the collar. "Do you lie?" he snarled, his wings unfurling in his fury.

"N-no, I swear!" the demon stammered. "They are moving throughout the city as we speak."

Mephisto stepped up beside Rizfadael. "What is so important in Rome, Rizfadael?"

"Sabbris is there, my lord," he answered, letting the demon drop from his grasp. "She has the heavenly documents that reveal the location of the Seventh Seal."

Mephisto's face became dark with rage. "Lilith. You cunning bitch."

Rizfadael was close to panicking. "She and your son must have discovered that you only have five of the Seals, and now they're out to find the seventh before you do. How could this have happened? How could they have known!"

The angel suddenly had a gloved hand wrapped tightly around his throat, squeezing hard. Mephisto's black eyes stared straight through him. "Go to Rome. Stop my wife and son. Bring Sabbris and the holy documents to me."

"But sire!" Rizfadael choked. "The documents would disintegrate upon entering Hell!"

"Then make sure that they don't get them!" He threw the angel to the ground and stepped over him. "Incompetent fools. If you want something done right, you must do it yourself." He stared down into the chasm, at the great hellclock. "_Daemnos_!" he thundered, his voice echoing through the hot, smoky air. "The time is now. Start the clocks at normal pace!"

Whips cracked and souls screamed, and a loud groan of metal filled the cavern as the gears began to turn more slowly.

Mephisto stepped back and placed his cane on Rizfadael's chest, pinning him down. "You had better not disappoint me, angel," he threatened lowly. "Get those documents. I will meet you at the Holy See. Come with them, or don't come at all." He lifted his cane and Rizfadael scrambled up. The angel bowed quickly before he spread his wings and flew up into the darkness.

Malinda walked up to her father and took him by the hand. "Is it time to play the war game, Daddy?" she asked in an innocent voice.

"Yes, my dear," Mephisto smiled. "It's time."

† † †

Streaks of sunlight broke through the cloudy afternoon, and Johnny stood awkwardly in a crumbling garden of an old cathedral, staring at the decrepit statue of some saint that was covered in thorny rose vines. Lilith was speaking with the old priest, her voice low and steady. Blackheart had begun to wander, bored with his mother's conversation. The priest kept glancing back and forth between the three strangers, as if he were afraid to lose sight of them. Anyone who came to this church asking about holy, paranormal sightings was likely up to no good.

Johnny sighed and took a seat on a stone bench, staring up through the trees and wishing that this whole ordeal was over; this was the third site they had visited so far, and they had either been greeted with slamming doors or looks of terror. No one wanted to talk to them. Perhaps they could sense the two demons' unholy aura, or maybe it was the way they were dressed. And so far they had found no one who could point them in the right direction.

Johnny looked up to see Lilith walking toward him across the grass. She looked tired and harassed, and he rose to his feet to meet her. "No luck, huh?"

"None. This was the first priest to actually take us seriously, and he knows nothing about any miracles or holy hauntings anywhere in Rome." She sighed. "I don't want to jinx us, but this doesn't look good. I think we're going to be here for a long time before we find an angel, Johnny." She looked around the garden. "Where's Atrocor?"

† † †

Blackheart's explorations had led him into a cool, shady flower garden, and that was where they spotted him. He was crouched down in a small bed of pink and white azaleas, looking like the shadow of death amongst such bright colors, his black coat trailing on the green grass.

From between the trees came Lilith and Johnny, and the demoness caught her breath when she saw her son; she put her hand to Blaze's chest, stopping him where he stood. He looked at her questioningly, then followed her gaze.

Blackheart was watching the butterflies flutter between the flowers, staring with rapt fascination, head cocked and eyes deep with memory. He reached his hand forward slowly, toward a brilliant blue butterfly as it drank nectar from one of the azaleas. His finger brushed against its legs, and the insect stopped feeding to crawl onto it. Blackheart lifted his hand and brought it close to his face, and the butterfly walked across his knuckles, its long tongue probing his skin. He smiled and stood up, letting the butterfly scramble onto his other hand to investigate. The jewel-blue wings batted slowly, so much prettier when they were attached to a living body. The creature lingered another moment before it took to the wind and flew off to find another flower.

When Johnny turned to look at Lilith, she had tears threatening to spill from her eyes. Before he could ask her if she was alright, she called to her son in a hoarse voice, "Atrocor. It's time to leave."

The smile faded from Blackheart's lips when he heard his mother's voice, and he turned to look one last time upon the dancing butterflies before following Johnny and his mother out of the garden.

† † †

Sabbris sat up with a jolt, almost flipping her chair over backward. She grabbed onto the table and waited for her heart to stop pounding. The holy papers and her own handwritten notes were scattered across the table in a terrible mess. She sighed and rubbed her eyes, wondering how long she had been asleep. She had been having the strangest dream.

The angel stood up and stretched, looking out the window. The sun was high, but it was beginning to grow dark and cloudy. Perhaps they would get some rain soon. Sabbris hoped so. The rain usually brought good news from above. It was the only way she could keep in touch with her home these days; she had been in the mortal world for so long now . . .

She glanced back at her messy table, and decided that she was working too hard. She hadn't been outside the monastery in two days, and her legs were beginning to get stiff. The angel deftly wove a braid in her hair, slipped on her sandals, and opened the creaky wooden door to her barracks. She greeted the old nun in the foyer and said that she'd be returning soon. The nun nodded and warned her to be careful. Rome could be dangerous for a young girl, even in the daylight.

Sabbris stepped onto the sidewalk and stretched her arms above her head. It was a beautiful day, warm and breezy. Which direction should she take? She looked down the street both ways before deciding to go left.

She had no idea of the chain reaction she had now set into motion, simply because she had decided to walk left. She carried on, unaware, and ventured from the safety of the monastery at _Catacombe de Priscilla_.

† † †

Even though Johnny, Lilith and Blackheart stood out among the colorful Italian crowd like three black clouds, the people ignored them, mostly because demons _could_ be ignored by people if they so pleased. They had little trouble making their way down streets and winding alleys in search of the next destination on their list, but the air was warm and all the walking was beginning to get tiring.

"Isn't there a better way to do this?" Blackheart grumbled, sitting on a short stone wall in the shade of a large tree.

"No," Lilith said firmly. "Unfortunately they have yet to invent an angel radar, and until they do, this is the only way."

"Cops still have to hoof it," Johnny said helpfully, sitting beside Blackheart. "Even with all the technology the police force has, sometimes the only way to get the job done is by knocking door to door and hoping for a lead."

"Well it's stupid," Blackheart mumbled, and began to play with the ring on his finger. Still such a kid, Johnny thought with a smile.

Lilith flipped through the travel brochures, trying to find out which direction they should take to get to a particular street, when her son suddenly raised his head. "Are you wearing something?" he asked her.

"What do you mean, sweetie?" she answered, trying to find the right pamphlet.

"Like perfume. Are you wearing any?"

"No. . ."

Johnny frowned, watching Blackheart as he stood up, sniffing the air. "What is it?" he asked. "You smell something?"

"Ozone," the demon muttered. "But sweeter."

Across the street, a young woman with blonde hair dropped a few Euros into the guitar case of a street musician and turned around to discover she was being watched.

Through the passing cars and milling tourists, Blackheart saw the angel go stock still, and even from that distance he could smell her fear. But mostly, he smelled her.

"Honey?" Lilith asked, "what are you-"

Blackheart sprang forward with a shout of, "You! Angel!" and ran into the busy street.

Sabbris turned and bolted down the sidewalk as fast as she could go.

Johnny put a hand to his mouth and swore, "Jesus Christ!" while Lilith dropped the brochures. Cars honked and brakes screeched as Blackheart dodged high-speed traffic; people shouted as they were pushed aside by an apparently suicidal young man dressed in black. "WAIT! Don't run!" he shouted after the angel. "We need your help!"

Johnny and Lilith spotted a break in the traffic and began to run after Blackheart, forcing aside anyone who stood in their way.

Up ahead, Sabbris' feet pounded on the concrete and she dared to look behind her. The demon — she was certain it was a demon — was still fast on her heels, his dark coat flapping behind him and a terrifying look in his eyes. He shouted to her again, begging her to stop, but there was no way she was even going to consider it. She had to get back to the monastery; it was sacred ground there, he wouldn't be able to follow.

Sabbris bolted around a corner and sprinted down a narrow alleyway, taking a shortcut and hoping to throw off her pursuer. It didn't work. She turned her head and saw him barreling after her, followed by two others . . . And one of them had an even darker aura than his. She was being chased by two demons, probably three, and they were starting to gain on her.

The angel fought back her tears of fright. She couldn't run if she started to cry, and she wasn't going to let herself fall into demonic hands just because she was easily frightened. If she let her emotions get the better of her, they would catch her and probably torture her to death, cut off her wings, any number of horrible possibilities. That was enough to keep her running.

She burst out of the alley, stumbling over a pile of garbage but managing to keep her feet beneath her. Across the street she could see the monastery — almost there. Drawing in a deep breath, she raced across the pavement. The demon behind her yelled angrily, "Angel! You're starting to piss me off!"

And you're about to piss off indeed, she thought triumphantly as she slammed into the wooden doors of the monastery and fell to the floor, gasping. The nun sitting behind the counter looked up in shock, then backed against the wall as Blackheart came to a stop inside the foyer.

Sabbris looked over her shoulder and yelped, "No! No, you can't come in here! This is sacred-"

The demon reached down and hauled her up by the arm. "Do you know who I am?" he demanded, shaking her angrily.

The angel cowered, trembling in Blackheart's iron grip. "I know wh-_what_ you are," she stammered, cheeks wet with tears.

"That's not the same," Lilith snapped, entering through the doors with a panting Johnny at her side.

Blackheart stared at the angel, and for the first time seemed to see the terror he was causing her. He felt his heart clench with newfound sympathy. He released her slowly and allowed her to put a healthy distance between them. "I am Atrocor," he said stiffly. "You may call me Blackheart."

Sabbris was still breathless, and now confusion was added to her fear. "Wha-? Blackheart?"

He turned. "This is my mother, Lilith, and my friend Johnny Blaze, a Ghost Rider."

"You-you're all _ demons_!" she cried, taking a few more steps back and entering the grassy courtyard. "And you're their _Prince_! Get out!" She swept her arm in front of her, as if trying to shoo them away. "Go back to Hell! You're not welcome here!"

Blackheart moved forward into the garden. "Stop screaming. We're not here to cause anyone trouble. You least of all."

Sabbris' bottom lip quivered, but she stopped screaming. She studied Blackheart, noticing the sheathed sword he wore on his belt. "You mean you're not here to kill me?"

"No." Blackheart smiled as nicely as he could to show that he meant it.

"Were you sent by Rizfadael?" she asked.

Johnny frowned. "How do you know Rizfadael?"

Sabbris blinked with surprise. "How do _you_ know him?"

Lilith glared at Sabbris. "I think you need to tell us what's going on, missy. If you're involved with Rizfadael, you need to tell us now."

In the middle of the green courtyard, the angel looked at the three intruders fearfully. "I'm doing a job for him here," she answered hesitantly.

"Are you on Heaven's side?" Blackheart demanded, his voice dark. "Or are you a traitor like Rizfadael?"

"No," said Sabbris in a small voice. "My loyalty is to the Father alone."

Johnny sighed in relief, and Blackheart took his hand off the hilt of his sword. "That's good to hear," he said. "But why are you involved with that bastard? You know he's working for my father, don't you?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I . . . I'm a double agent. I'm working to translate these documents that will reveal where the Circle of Fidelity is. Rizfadael thinks I'm going to hand the answer over to Mephistopheles, but I'm not. The information is going back to Heaven."

"Why?" Blackheart smirked. "Don't they know where it is?"

Sabbris looked ashamed. "Well . . . no. We've, um. Lost it. I mean, misplaced it. Yes."

"You _lost_ a sacred seal?" the demon asked in mock amazement. "Your people must be _terribly_ upset."

"No, we. We're just in a hurry to get it back."

Blackheart nodded. "Well, perhaps we can help each other. You see, we need a message to be delivered to your superiors. If you do that for us, we will help you out as well."

"What kind of message is it?" Sabbris asked doubtfully.

"A short one: the last two Seals have been found, and we bring them with us." At that, he drew the Sword of Valor from its sheath, holding it in his right hand — the hand that also wore the Ring of Fidelity.

Sabbris gasped and nearly lost her footing. "The Sword! And . . . and the Circle — a ring, of _course_! Why did I not see this sooner? And _you_, the Firstborn. It's just like the prophecy said. But how-! How did you-?"

"It's a long story," Lilith muttered. "Look: we don't want Mephisto to get these Seals any more than you do. That son of a bitch has spawned another child, _the_ child, the Antichrist, and any day now he's going to show up with that brat and all hell is going to break loose. I bet your dear Rizfadael didn't tell you _that_, did he?"

Sabbris shook her head, mortified by this news. "No. I, I knew my job had something to do with the Seals, but _Armageddon_." She put a hand to her forehead, feeling overwhelmed. "I need to tell Michael right away. Forget the documents — they're worthless now." She gazed at Blackheart. "So you . . . You're on Heaven's side?"

"We're on our own side," he answered, slowly twisting the silver ring off his finger and approaching her. "Take this," he said, putting the ring into the angel's hand. "Tell your lords that we are seeking asylum on Earth, nothing more. Our connections to Hell are already severed, and we will cause no trouble for your kind any longer."

Johnny smiled to himself, his spirit lifting. That light he had known was in the demon's heart was now shining like the brightest star in the sky.

Blackheart stepped back. "Take the ring to Heaven. Tell them of our plight. Send down your armies before Mephisto rises to destroy this world. Hurry, angel."

Sabbris held the ring tightly in her fist and nodded resolutely. A pair of shimmering white wings opened from her back, spreading wide. Johnny stepped up beside Blackheart and put a hand on his shoulder. "Thank God," he breathed. "It's over now."

"_SABBRIS__!"_ The scream came from the side of the courtyard, and they all turned to see Rizfadael, wings unfolded threateningly, storming toward them with madness and rage in his green eyes. "You lying _bitch_!" he bellowed, and Sabbris froze in shock. "Don't you fucking dare! Give me that ring!"

Lilith plowed into Rizfadael from the side before he could reach Sabbris, and would have knocked him over if the furious angel hadn't been so strong. Thunder rumbled overhead and Johnny launched himself forward, aiming his fist at Rizfadael's face. Blackheart stepped in front of Sabbris defensively, holding the sword ready. "Go!" he called over his shoulder. "Go, before it's too late!"

The panicked angel jumped into the air, wings beating powerfully, and with astonishing speed she streaked up into the sky, disappearing. With a roar Rizfadael threw Lilith and Johnny off of him; they rolled in the grass and got back on their feet as he began to stomp toward Blackheart. "You meddling _brat_," he snarled. "I should have killed you when I had the chance. Give me the sword now!"

"Take it from me," Blackheart dared, holding the blade like a baseball bat. "I'll do to you what I did to Belial."

Rizfadael sneered wickedly. "Yes, you made short work of that incompetent fool — just like we had planned."

Blackheart's eyes widened. "What?"

"Oh?" the angel laughed. "You didn't know? How pathetically unsurprising. You really think you're going to stop your father and save the world, don't you, Atrocor?"

"That's the plan," Blackheart muttered, and the two began to slowly circle each other.

Rizfadael grinned. "Well you're too _late_ — he's already here, and the Child is with him. You'll never stop them, even with that pretty little sword of yours. It's worthless in your hands, Atrocor. You've lost. Give it back to me and I'll see that it is put to good use."

The demon gritted his teeth, holding the sword tightly in his hands. "No."

The smile on Rizfadael's face faded and he bared his teeth. He clenched his fists in rage as the feathers of his wings began to spread, making him appear larger. Fear coursed through Blackheart's veins but he stood his ground, ready to fight.

And then, a burst of brilliantly white light surrounded Rizfadael — a heavenly halo, and it blinded all in its presence. Lilith clapped her hands over her eyes and Johnny yelped in shock, throwing his arm over his face; Blackheart hissed and turned his head, and was struck head on by Rizfadael. The sword went sailing from his hands, landing on the grass. The light dissipated and angel and demon rolled together on the ground, snarling and kicking and biting. Blackheart found himself pinned beneath the bloodthirsty Rizfadael and struggling to pry the hands from around his neck.

"Don't fight it, Atrocor," he snarled, digging his fingers into Blackheart's flesh. "It's much easier to give up and die!"

Lilith clambered to her feet and ran to pick the sword up from the grass as Johnny threw himself onto Rizfadael's back, grabbing his left wing and jerking it as hard as he could. The angel roared in pain and rose up, sending Johnny tumbling away. Rizfadael's face contorted in horror when he saw Lilith charging toward him, sword raised, and he tried to dodge the diagonal cut aimed at his chest.

The Sword of Valor sliced through blood and bone and feathers, and a pair of severed wings thumped onto the grass, still flexing and twitching. Gasping for breath, Blackheart sat up just as Rizfadael unleashed an earth-shattering scream of torment, blood spurting from the mangled stumps on his back. He lifted his head to glare at Lilith, who was frozen with astonishment at the sight of the mutilated angel.

"_You_ . . ." he growled, then launched himself at the demoness, grabbing her hands that still clutched the sword. "You're dead!"

"Mother!" Blackheart cried, watching the two fight for possession of the sword. Its blade swung to and fro dangerously, and Blackheart staggered up, disregarding the danger, and lunged at Rizfadael's legs. Johnny darted forward and locked his arms around the angel's waist, trying to pull him away from Lilith.

Everything from that moment on seemed to happen in slow motion: Rizfadael wrenched the sword from Lilith's hands, then lost his balance as he tripped over Blackheart and was pulled backward by Johnny. The blade swung in a wide arc. Rizfadael threw himself forward to avoid losing his balance. And the Sword of Valor plunged into Lilith's chest.

Rizfadael fell forward onto the ground, his hand slipping from the hilt. Johnny landed on the angel's back and pinned him down triumphantly. Blackheart lifted his face from the grass and turned to see his mother sink to her knees, dropping the sword she had pulled from her chest, a sheet of black-red blood coursing from the wound it had made. His eyes went wide.

He didn't remember screaming, but Johnny said he did. Lilith's blue eyes blinked once, slowly, and she fell onto her back. Blackheart and Johnny immediately rushed to her side, and Rizfadael, still bleeding heavily, began to crawl away on his belly.

"Mother," Blackheart croaked, sitting beside her and gently lifting her head. "Mother?"

Her lips trembled, shiny with blood. She tried to say something but it came out a wet gurgle, drops of blood spattering onto her pale face.

Tears of shock flooded Blackheart's eyes. "Mother! _ Mother!_"

The blue of Lilith's eyes clouded over, filled with distance, and she was utterly still. In the courtyard of the monastery, the world was silent.

Johnny had seen it happen before his very eyes, and he knew what was coming; he wrapped his arms tightly around Blackheart as the demon's body began to tremble. The first sob of grief ripped through the silence, and Blackheart let out a broken wail.

Johnny began to rock back and forth, trying to find some words of solace, but he couldn't seem to think. His mind had stopped working. He blinked and tears trickled down his face, and even though he was silent, the screams inside him were as loud as Blackheart's.

The demon stopped fighting against the embrace and became limp, and Johnny loosened his grip. Blackheart slumped against the man's chest, sobbing. "Oh God, I'm dying . . ." He raised his bloodstained face. "_What is this pain!?_"

"Sorrow," Johnny whispered, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. "You're grieving."

Blackheart's face twisted with sadness, his jaw trembling. His tears made trails of white through the dark blood on his cheeks. He stifled a sob and squeezed Johnny's arm for support. "I, I can't b-breathe," he gasped raggedly. "Help me, Johnny."

"Hold onto me, kiddo. Do you feel me holding you? Feel it. Feel the warmth. I'm here. Slow down. I'm not gonna let go." Blaze knew he was babbling, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. It seemed to be working: Blackheart stopped panting and was now breathing normally, his panic attack over. Now he just wept. Johnny took a deep breath and placed his hand over the demon's heart. It was pounding hard, and he could almost feel the anguish burning through to his palm.

Blackheart stared at his mother's corpse for several moments. And then, like Belial, she began to wither and sink into the ground. Johnny was forced to tighten his grip again as Blackheart lunged forward, trying to dig his mother's body from the grass. "No!" he cried. "Don't take her! Don't take her from me!"

A few seconds later, all that remained of Lilith was a dark stain on the ground.

Blackheart burst into tears, struggling against Johnny's arms. "Let me go!" he screamed. "Let go of me! Where is he? Where's Rizfadael? _Where is he!?_"

Sorrow had turned into rage, and even Blaze was powerless to stop it. He fell back as the demon broke from his grasp and staggered to his feet, searching the courtyard for the angel who had killed his mother. He spotted Rizfadael crawling away into the shadows, and with a snarl he stalked toward him, picking up the Sword of Valor as he went.

"Blackheart, don't!" Johnny yelled. "It won't bring Lilith back!"

"But it will make the pain easier to bear," he muttered, coming upon Rizfadael and kicking him hard enough to roll him over onto his back. Blackheart placed his foot on the angel's chest and pressed down, driving the stumps of his wings into the ground. Rizfadael howled in agony, then shut his mouth when he saw the fire burning in Blackheart's eyes.

"It was an accident," the angel stammered. "Have mercy, Atrocor. Have mercy!"

Blackheart's face, tear-streaked and bloody, was utterly emotionless as he lifted the sword above his head. Rizfadael's mouth opened in horror. Johnny closed his eyes and turned away.

The blade pierced the angel's throat and drove into the ground. There was a hollow snap and the head came free, pouring blood from the neck. The green eyes blinked one last time, and the rigid body beneath the demon's foot went lax.

Blackheart stepped away and turned to see Johnny staring at him hollowly. They looked at each other without a word, both aware of what had been done. Blackheart let the sword slip from his fingers and he walked toward Johnny, who opened his arms and pulled him close. The demon wrapped his arms around Johnny's shoulders and buried his face into the crook of the man's neck, weeping soundlessly.

Blaze held Blackheart against his chest, and wondered what on Earth they were going to do now.

A bright light suddenly grew behind them and Johnny turned, wincing against the heavenly rays. "What is that?" he asked, but Blackheart only recoiled from the glare.

The brilliant light began to fade, and two beings stood in the courtyard. They were angels, unlike anything Johnny had ever seen before: they were clad in garments of white and yellow and blue, lightly armored, carrying swords on their belts. The male was tall, strongly built, and auburn curls fell to his broad shoulders. His expression was severe but his eyes were just, and they stared hard at the mortal and demon before him. Beside him stood a female angel, white-haired but youthful, tall and strong like her partner. She was the archangel Gabriel, and her companion was Michael.

Blackheart began to shake, gripping Johnny's jacket tightly in fear. Johnny stared in awe, and knew who they were without thinking.

"Atrocor," Michael commanded, holding out his hand. "You have been summoned for judgment."

Blackheart shrank against Johnny, utterly terrified.

"Come with us," Michael said, "or die here."

"Go to them," Johnny whispered, even though he was certain that if he let go of Blackheart he would never see him again. These angels were going to take him away and kill him. Isn't that what happened to demons who killed heavenly beings?

Slowly Blackheart let go of Johnny and walked toward the glowing forms of Michael and Gabriel. He paused and turned around to gaze one last time at the man. His face, once stricken with fear and uncertainty, was now calm and serene. And when he spoke, there was no doubt in his voice at all: "I love you, Johnny."

So this was how it was going to end.

Blaze took a step forward to beg the angels for mercy, but Blackheart had already turned around and taken Michael's hand. Gabriel stepped beside him, and she and Michael closed their white wings over themselves and Blackheart. The light of Heaven glowed violently, and when it faded, they were gone.

Johnny Blaze stood in the silent courtyard, hopeless. Alone.

And heartbroken.


	12. In Saecula Saeculorum

**﻿In Saecula Saeculorum**

Night had fallen in Rome. The sky was hidden by clouds, blocking what little light came from moon and star, and the darkness that consumed St Peter's Piazza seemed to hold its breath as it gave birth to two shadowy figures, one tall and one small.

Mephisto stood beside the silent fountain, his senses tuned to the slightest presence. Aside from the two Swiss guards standing far away in the shadows of the Vatican basilica, there was no other living being present. "Rizfadael," he growled, eyes darkening. "You have failed me."

Malinda looked about herself with wondering eyes. "Where are we, Daddy?" she asked.

"God's city," he answered, putting a hand on her shoulder and drawing her close. "Where you and I shall build a _new_ kingdom."

"But don't we need the Circle and the Sword?" came her innocent young voice as she looked up questioningly at her father.

"Yes," Mephisto answered, "and the Sword is here somewhere. All we must do is find it. Or rather-" he smiled, "-let it come to us." He glanced down at Malinda. "How about a game, my dear?"

"What kind of game, Daddy?"

Mephisto raised his eyes to the Holy See. "One that could be played with the family pet."

† † †

The light burned Blackheart's eyes until they bled crystal-clear tears of pain, and he fell to the ground when Michael finally released him. The demon curled up protectively, wrapping his arms around his head in an attempt to shut out the sickening heavenly light.

Raphael and Uriel came forward to meet their returned companions, their boots tapping on the colorful marble floor of Heaven's outer circle. The two archangels stared down at the dirty, disheveled demon in his bloodstained black coat as he lay at their feet, shuddering. Behind Raphael trailed Sabbris, watching the proceedings worriedly.

"This is he?" Uriel asked, her brown eyes narrowed at Blackheart's weakened form. "This is the Firstborn?"

"Yes," Gabriel answered. "He bears the mark."

"Show it to me."

Michael and Gabriel bent down and each grabbed one of Blackheart's arms, pulling him to his feet. The demon shut his eyes tightly, fighting against the angels in an attempt to cover his eyes once more. "Stop, please stop," he begged. "The light . . . hurts so much-"

Michael grasped the hem of Blackheart's shirt and lifted it, exposing the demon's lean torso. Uriel bent close, reaching out to brush her hand against his belly, over his navel.

"So he _is_ the one," she stated. "Sabbris was correct."

Michael looked to Raphael. "How damaged is he?"

The golden-haired archangel stepped close and took Blackheart's chin in his hand, turning his head this way and that. "He is heavily tainted," he answered in his deep voice. "Stained with innocent blood. Guilty of all seven sins. A conceiver of malcontent and sacrilege. Innumerable human lives have been lost on his mercy, and the darkness of his being is rivaled only by the darkness of his heart."

"We cannot risk it then," Michael said grimly. "He must die."

"No!" Sabbris cried, approaching her four masters. "He cannot be lost! There is goodness in him, I've seen it!"

"She is right," Raphael admitted, placing his hand over Blackheart's heart, pressing until the demon groaned from the pressure. "I feel a light dwelling within him. Holy light."

Michael, Gabriel and Uriel looked at each other in disbelief while Sabbris smirked triumphantly.

"Yes," Raphael continued, his eyes focused upon his hand, reading what he felt. "He still carries the aura of his place of birth. I feel sympathy in him. Compassion. And . . ." A perplexed look crossed the angel's face. "Love. And it appears to be growing."

"How is that possible?" Uriel quipped. "Everything that demons feel is a perversion; they cannot love."

"This one can. And he did." Raphael's voice softened. "He still does."

Sabbris spoke up nervously: "Can you heal him, Raphael?"

"I don't know," he answered. "If I were to draw all the poison out of his body, it could kill him."

"Should we risk it?" Michael asked, gazing down at Blackheart, whose tears of pain continued to roll down his cheeks.

"I'm willing," Raphael said. "We need his power. The Ring has become a part of his being, and none of us can wield it so well has he. He and the Circle are now merged together, and to kill him would mean the partial destruction of the Ring itself. And if Sabbris is correct about our Great Foe, we'll need the full power of all of God's weapons. We have no choice, I'm afraid. It must be attempted."

Michael asked, "Have you ever purified a demon of this rank before?"

"No," the archangel admitted, rolling up his sleeve. "This is the Prince of Hell. Cleansing him could very well destroy him if evil is all that is keeping him alive."

"What are his chances?"

Raphael's blue eyes were dark with seriousness. "Slim. I'd say he has a twenty percent chance of survival."

Michael nodded. "Then do it. Gabriel?"

"Yes."

"Hold him tightly. He's going to thrash when Raphael begins, and if you weaken your grip for a moment, it could kill him."

Gabriel nodded in agreement and tightened her hold on Blackheart's arm until the demon cried out in pain. He struggled to open his eyes, but the light was too bright for him to bear. "Wh-what are you doing?" he stammered. "Let me go!"

Raphael took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "_In nomine Patris_." He plunged fingers of pure light into Blackheart's chest, and the demon's scream was filled with hellfire and suffering as he was penetrated by holy flesh. "_In nomine Filii_." Raphael grasped the cold heart in his fist and clenched his teeth, wings spreading to anchor himself. Sabbris put her hands over her eyes and turned away, too scared to watch. "_In nomine Spiritus Sancti-!_"

Blackheart's eyes shot open, his body becoming bright as the darkness possessing him was drawn out.

Raphael continued: "_Libera malo filium Satanam._ Deliver from evil the Son of Satan-"

It was too much. Too much. Blackheart could feel himself weakening, becoming hollow as the evil left him, dying slowly. Like a butterfly whose wings had been torn from its body.

"-and make him as he was; in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be-"

"Nooo!" Blackheart howled, the very fibers of his being tearing apart, thread by thread. "Nooooooo!"

"Stop, Raphael!" Uriel cried. "You're killing him!"

"No, it must be done!" Michael shouted. "Finish it, Raphael! Hurry!"

"_Infernum detrude, _s_piritus malignos,_" Into Hell I cast this evil spirit, "_in saecula saeculorum! Amen!_" forever!

And Raphael wrenched his hand from Blackheart's body, bringing with it a thick black vapor that immediately splattered onto the pristine floor like molten tar. The smoking bile oozed and twitched like a dying parasite, and Uriel drew her sword and planted it in the center of mass. It seemed to screech in a thousand voices before dissolving into a grainy blue dust, destroyed forever.

Blackheart's eyes rolled back in his head and he tumbled from the angels' grasp, his head filling with darkness and silence that was peaceful , welcomed. The void overtook his mind and body, blackening his senses, consuming him until he was no more.

The Prince of Hell was dead.

† † †

The night was blacker than any night he could remember. No benevolent starlight shone down from above to bring solace or comfort. It was as if Earth and sky were in mourning, or had given up hope completely.

Johnny sat on a stone bench in the courtyard of the monastery at _Catacombe di Priscilla_, waiting for an absolution, unwilling to leave the place where he had lost everything that had mattered to him. The Sword of Valor lay across his knees, and he stared down at his face reflecting in the smooth, cold metal.

The nun had been by to see him a few times and had placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, speaking to him softly in Italian. Johnny couldn't understand what she said to him, but it seemed that she and the monks at the monastery had accepted him as a guest there. They had been fearful of him at first, having witnessed the battle that had taken place there that afternoon, but now they had realized he wasn't a threat. In fact, they seemed to understand the cause of his melancholy.

But all that didn't concern him now. Lilith was dead and Blackheart had been taken away from him, and if Rizfadael had spoken the truth, then Mephisto and the Antichrist were already on Earth. Johnny felt powerless and weak, small compared to the breadth of this catastrophic situation. He couldn't save the world by himself, and without Blackheart he didn't want to save it. He was through with everything: his damned life, his wasted existence, his meaningless struggle to reclaim his soul, and he felt so painfully empty without Blackheart that he almost would have welcomed Armageddon.

Johnny brushed his hand over the golden hilt of the sword, thinking about him. How quickly they had adhered to one another once their differences had been set aside and their former rivalry forgotten. How easy it had been to become Blackheart's comrade, his friend, his lover. Johnny wondered if there had ever been anything evil about him at all. Even when they had been enemies, Blackheart's quest for power and the contract of San Venganza had only been a desperate attempt to free his mother from exile, and he'd let no one stand in his way. When a son loves his mother that much, it is impossible to resent him. And all it took for Johnny and Blackheart to come together was a little bit of faith.

Faith, Blaze thought with a sad smile. That's a good name for my bike.

His heart suddenly ached with pain, and he swallowed the knot in his throat, staring up at the sky. He couldn't wait here forever. He would have to leave sometime, try to get back to the States . . . wait for the end of the world.

"It shouldn't have happened like this," he whispered to himself, maybe to God, watching the clouds break around the moon. Pale blue light spilled across the courtyard lawn. "I shouldn't have let them take you." Johnny bowed his head, hearing Blackheart's last words to him echo in his memory: _I love you, Johnny._

The moonlight continued to shine, then it steadily began to grow stronger. Brighter. Too bright. Blaze lifted his head and saw a white glow in the middle of the garden, getting larger and larger. It was so intense that he squinted his eyes and raised his arm in front of his face. It was heavenly light, no doubt about it. Were the angels coming back to take him, too?

The light began to fade, and Johnny saw only one figure standing in the courtyard, but it was still too bright to make it out. He rose to his feet, holding the sword tightly in his hand. Gradually the glow dissipated, revealing a figure that Johnny didn't recognize.

Glittering chain mail rustled beneath a tunic of black, and an obsidian breastplate detailed with gold caught the moonlight and glowed, illuminating the stranger's attire: black linen pants, boots trimmed with gilded metal, a black sash over the left shoulder that was fastened by a golden clasp. A short cloak fluttered in the breeze, and an empty scabbard hung from a warrior's belt. It was more than an outfit — it was the armor of war. And as the stranger slowly raised his head, Johnny felt his heart ignite with recognition.

His mouth opened in shock; he lowered the sword as a set of familiar blue eyes met his own, framed by soft wisps of jet black hair. The playful lips curved upward in recognition, and a pair of black-feathered wings spread open slowly, stretching for the first time.

Johnny took a step forward, then another. "Blackheart . . . ?" he ventured, afraid that he had lost his mind from grief and was hallucinating. "It's . . . But it can't-" The sword slipped from his hand and thumped onto the grass.

"Johnny," Blackheart murmured, striding toward him earnestly, smiling with relief. "Johnny!"

They threw their arms around one another and Blaze squeezed him tightly, his fingers brushing against silky soft feathers. The scent of electricity filled his nose — ozone, but cooler and sweeter. "I thought you were gone forever," he said, pulling away and getting a good look at Blackheart, taking the pale, beloved face in his hands. "But now you . . . you're an _angel._"

"Not quite," came a gentle voice. "He's just not a demon anymore."

From the darkness behind Blackheart came a bright flash of light, and when it had dissolved, the Archangel Raphael, clad in white and gold armor nearly identical to Blackheart's, stepped forward. He was an image of angelic grace: tall, strong, and stern.

Johnny was at a loss; he pulled away and bowed slightly, knowing no other way to show his respect. He noticed that Blackheart did the same. "Raphael," the former-demon said reverently before turning to Blaze. "Johnny, this is the archangel who saved my life."

"No," said Raphael firmly, folding his snow-white wings upon his back and approaching them. "I cannot claim that title." He turned his eyes to Johnny. "It was your love for Damael that saved him. Without it, he would have been beyond our aid."

Johnny was utterly lost. "What? Who's Damael?"

"Me," Blackheart said, and Johnny gave him an astonished look. "That is my true name. The one that was taken from me when my . . ." He trailed off as he suddenly remembered his mother, and a veil of astonished grief cast itself over his face. It was as if he had briefly forgotten about his demonic life only to have all of its agony and sorrow come crashing down on top of him. He placed his hand over his heart, the pain as raw and real as it had been the moment she died.

Raphael exhaled quietly. "It was the love of your mother Floreus that kept you from succumbing to evil, Damael. Your mother gave you strength, and this mortal man gave you power. You are fortunate to be so loved."

The angel's kind words still weren't enough to keep the tears from spilling down Blackheart's cheeks. He stared at Raphael like a lost and heartbroken child, bereft of all the things he had cared about, devoid of warmth and happiness. Raphael regarded him with silent sympathy until Blackheart could bear the gaze no longer — he turned his face away. "What am I going to do? How . . . How can I live without her?"

"You'll find a way," Johnny insisted gently, taking Blackheart by the hand. "I'll help you find a way."

"After you first help the world," Raphael added, lifting his head to the sky. "Or else there will be no point in trying to live at all."

"What's going on?" Johnny asked. "Is Heaven going to fight?"

"Yes," Raphael answered, kneeling down and grasping the hilt of the Sword of Valor. "Michael is preparing our forces for war, but the King of Hell walks the Earth as we speak." He stood and held the sword out to Blackheart, who wiped the tears from his cheeks and accepted the blade dutifully, sliding it into the scabbard on his belt, pulling himself together.

"He is here in Rome, and the Child is with him. You must find him, Damael, and prevent him from summoning his army."

"How are we supposed to do that?" Blaze demanded.

"Any way you can," Raphael said sharply. "You must help him, Johnny. Though your soul is sold to Hell and your body now the home of a vicious demon, the love between Damael and yourself will grant you power." Raphael extended his hand to the new angel, opening it to reveal a glowing silver ring on his palm. Blackheart hesitantly reached forth and plucked it up, slid it onto his smallest finger. The glow doubled as it returned to the hand of its master, the being to whom it was now forever bound.

A mother's devotion. A man's love. An angel's power.

"You have the Sword and the Circle," Raphael said. "Now you must fight, for we are out of time." The archangel spread his wings and turned to depart. "All you must do is delay him until our troops arrive. _Dominus tecum_." May God be with thee.

"How long with that be?" Blackheart asked, but Raphael was already vanishing in a bright light. "Wait! How long will it be!?" The light faded, and Blackheart stood in the dark garden with Johnny, who put a hand on the dark-winged angel's shoulder.

"Never mind," he said. "C'mon. We've got to find Mephisto before he brings Hell to Earth."

"But I can't fight him!" Blackheart exclaimed, pulling away. "So what if I've got two of the Sacred Seals — my father has _five._ If he defeats me he'll have ultimate power, and not even God will be able to stop him!"

"That's not going to happen," Johnny said adamantly, taking Blackheart by the shoulders and giving him a gentle shake to calm him down. "If Mephisto wants to take them from you, he'll have to kill me first."

Blackheart paled. "That's what frightens me. If you died I'd . . . I've lost so much already-"

"But you've also gained a lot," Johnny argued. "You've got power now. Hell, you've got wings! Armor! You look like the goddamn Angel of Death, and Mephisto's going to have a heart attack when he sees what his son has become!"

Blackheart smiled, relaxing a little. Johnny lifted his hand and stroked the angel's cheek. "And you've got me, kiddo. Hell may have my soul, but you've got my heart. . .and that's something that your dad will _ never_ be expecting." He leaned forward and planted a warm kiss on Blackheart's forehead. "I love you. I don't know how it happened, and I don't care. I love you and nothing's ever gonna change that." Johnny smiled, brushing the ebony fringe from Blackheart's heaven-blue eyes. "I can't live in fear. And neither can you."

Blackheart nodded and wrapped his arms around Blaze's shoulders, embracing him as if they were never going to see each other again, his dark wings stretching forward to fold around them both. "I know," he whispered, closing his eyes in acceptance. "I know."

"And_ I_ know _ I'm_ coming with you," called a new voice, and man and angel turned around in surprise. Sabbris stepped out of the shadows, no longer dressed in her mortal clothes, but wearing the same type of ethereal armor that all of the Host possessed. Her yellow hair was plaited and she carried a light shield on her back. She planted a long, pointed staff firmly into the ground and set her jaw with determination.

"Sabbris," Blackheart said, astonished. "How-? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be with Michael and the others."

"I figured I'm needed more here. Besides." She lowered her head sheepishly, a guilty look on her face. "I can't let my cowardice get the better of me every time there's a challenge." She grinned lopsidedly and shrugged. "I thought my life was over when I was being chased through the streets by the Prince of Hell, but that just goes to show you never know how things are going to turn out in the end, huh? And Johnny is right — you can't live in fear, and so I won't."

"You could get into trouble," Blackheart warned. "I'm still not on Heaven's side, you know. And you've disobeyed the Archangels by coming here. They're going to be angry with you."

"I don't care. Sometimes you've got to break the law to save the police." Sabbris lowered her voice to a respectful murmur. "And after what Rizfadael did to your mother, joining you is the least I could do. Please, Blackheart. Let me come with you."

The dark angel sighed heavily, but Johnny had already made the decision for them both. "Hell yes, lady. Welcome aboard. The more the merrier, I say."

Blackheart objected, "But Johnny, she-"

"She'll be just fine. Fuck the rules — we're about to fight Satan and the Antichrist. If anyone has a problem with our little trio, let them speak now or forever hold their peace." Blaze paused just long enough for silence to fall, then he put his fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly. On the other side of the city, the Hellcycle burst into flames and sped out through the streets, heeding the call of its master.

"That's what I thought." Johnny nodded sharply and gave the collar of his leather jacket a brisk jerk. "Now come on, angels. We've got a battle to win."


	13. World Without End

**﻿World Without End**

The light of dawn was beginning to turn the sky a dismal bluish-green color as Mephistopheles raised his face to the churning black clouds amassing over the Vatican. He lifted his black cane and struck the ground with it, sending a small tremor radiating through the square, cracking the cement and causing the white columns to shiver. A violent wind tore into the piazza, and Malinda stared in awe as her father became wreathed in a dark, swirling mist that roared upward from his feet. She shielded her eyes and looked away for a moment, and when she finally glanced back, Mephisto was gone.

The creature that stood in his place was a grotesque perversion of an archangel, deformed with sin and evil: six leathery crimson wings spread out from his back, studded with black horns and scales. His body was thick and muscular, hideous to behold. His arms and legs were coated with an armor of tiny black spines, each one a poisonous needle of death. His enormous hands and feet bore deadly, curving claws, like that of some prehistoric monster. His chest was broad and bony, rippling with muscle and heaving from the force of his labored breathing. But his face was by far the most terrifying of all.

Black eyes ringed with white fire, pupils red as hot coals; reptilian nostrils flaring and exhaling black smoke; a jutting mouth filled with four rows of sharkish white teeth, drooling thick strings of saliva; a crown of tangled horns set upon his narrow head. He stood tall and turned, staring down at his daughter, the Antichrist, who had never before seen her father in his true form. She stumbled backward onto the ground, eyes wide with terror. "Daddy!" she cried. "Daddy, what happened to you!"

He approached her with a growl, the ground cracking beneath his feet, and Malinda let out a high-pitched shriek as she was picked up in Mephisto's clawed hand. "Summon them," he ordered, his voice like the sound of splitting rock. "Summon my armies. I have no power here — you alone must do it."

The girl wriggled with terror, trying to free herself from the monster's hand.

"SUMMON THEM!" he roared, and Malinda covered her ears from the deafening sound. She raised her pale, tear-streaked face and closed her eyes, obeying her father. The ground began to quake and a black glow surrounded her small body.

"Yesss," Mephisto hissed. "YESSS!"

The floor of the square began to erupt, throwing rock and concrete and dust into the air as holes opened up in the ground. Sulfuric fumes and clouds of hot ash spewed from their depths, and legions of screaming, clawing demons, ecstatic with freedom and bloodlust, poured forth into the mortal world.

There came a deep roar from the pit forming in the center of the basilica, and as Mephisto watched with satisfaction, the Beast slithered its way up from the darkness, its white eyes blind and unseeing, snapping with fury and restrained only by the long black chain shackled to its neck. The Devil threw back his head and laughed, the sound of the end of the world echoing through the city.

† † †

Across Rome, the Hellcycle bounced as the first tremors of the Apocalypse made themselves known. The Ghost Rider brought his bike to a screeching halt, and Blackheart and Sabbris, flying above him with a great swooping of wings, alighted upon the ground. "What is it, Johnny?" Blackheart called to him.

"What's that red light?" Sabbris asked, pointing to the sky a few blocks away with a fearful look.

The Rider growled. "Hell," he answered, and with a screech he turned his bike around and headed straight for it. Blackheart and Sabbris exchanged horrified glances before taking to the air, drawing their weapons and flying after the Rider.

† † †

Malinda let out a squeal as she was tossed to the ground. She curled up and covered her head as ash and rocks rained around her. The ground still shook and hot fumes burned the air; it was like being within the crater of an erupting volcano, and the scale of these events were frightening her to the core of her mortal heart.

Mephisto stepped past her to meet the five archdemons approaching him: Beelzebub, Abbadon, Dagon, Bael, Moloch and Belphegor, each one bearing a Sacred Seal. They bowed before their lord and he smiled, revealing rows of serrated teeth. "Now is the time — let these Seals become _my_ power."

One by one the holy objects vanished within cyclones of black mist, and were sucked into Mephisto's body with a tremendous jolt: the Crown, the Mirror, the Goblet, the Scales, the Shield. With each Seal he absorbed, the Devil grew larger, stronger, his eyes blazing with ultimate power, until at last he lifted his head — now covered with long, arching horns — and roared his triumph to the sky.

Across the ruined basilica, the blind dragon continued to snap and jerk at the chain holding it down. Mephisto strode over, his gait like the predatory lope of a terrible lizard, and grasped the thick black chain in his claws. He gave it a quick pull, snapping the links. He laughed as he released the severed chain from his grasp; the Beast spread its wings and soared into the air, mad with rage, snapping its jaws together wildly.

The Devil raised his spiny arms toward the heavens. "Where is the great God NOW? Where is the Savior? Where is the old, dying king whose world and people are calling out for help? He has abandoned them all, and now they belong to me!"

A screech of tires sounded, and Mephisto turned to see a flaming motorcycle, driven by the Spirit of Vengeance, barreling toward him like a streak of fire from across the colonnade. The Devil spread his wings and sneered, "Zarathos! At last you've come to challenge me."

"No," said a familiar voice from behind, and Mephisto turned to behold a dark angel alight upon the ground. A dark angel who held the Sword of Valor toward him threateningly. "We've come to destroy you."

Mephisto drew back astounded as he recognized the face of his own son, and in that moment the Ghost Rider slammed his Hellcycle into the giant demon. Mephisto fell to the ground with an angry roar, and the Rider and his bike were sent careening over, throwing up a shower of sparks as he skidded across the rough ground.

"Blackheart. You treacherous bastard," Mephisto growled, crawling to his feet and leaning menacingly over his son. "So you traded your powers to become Heaven's slave, have you?"

"I traded only the evil that kept me your prisoner," Blackheart uttered, taking a cautious step backward. He had seen his father in his true form before, but never as powerful and grotesque as this. "They know, Father. Any minute now Michael and his army will be here, and you're going to lose. _Again_."

Mephisto smiled, revealing his long, razor-sharp teeth. "That's what _you_ think, boy."

The Rider, unearthing himself from a pile of rubble, staggered to his feet and shouted, "Blackheart! Behind you!"

Blackheart whipped around and saw the red, open mouth of the dragon coming toward him, and he knew it was too late to move. Those sharp, curving teeth were going to sink into his body and tear him apart like a-

A scream pierced the air and Sabbris soared down out of the sky like a white blur, driving her staff into the dragon's left eye. The beast screamed, shaking the ground, and reared up, thrashing its head until the shrieking angel was thrown off. She landed on the rocky ground, narrowly missing a gaping black cavern that was still pouring forth a torrent of misty demons.

Mephisto bellowed and lashed out at his son with his clawed hand, and Blackheart barely dodged away fast enough. The claws tore through his short cloak and sent a few black feathers flying. He sheathed his sword and sprang into the air, wings beating powerfully as he flew up into the sky.

"Get him, you fool!" the demon shouted to the Beast. "Kill him!"

The dragon, with Sabbris' golden staff still protruding from its bleeding, ruined eye, leaped into the air, chasing the angel.

Nearby, Sabbris sat up with a moan and touched her temple, feeling a sticky wetness oozing down the side of her face. She shook her head, trying to regain her senses, and looked up to see the Ghost Rider spring onto Mephisto's back, pulling at the demon lord's leathery red wings until they cracked and he screamed in pain.

"Johnny!" she cried, scrambling to her feet and taking flight.

Mephisto spun and seethed, trying to reach the vicious little hellion on his back. His claws shredded the Rider's jacket, revealing darkness and flaming white bone beneath. Blaze didn't know how much longer he could hang on like this, but he was going to try to do as much damage as he could. The fiery bones of his hands punctured the leather membrane of Mephisto's wings, burning and ripping and shredding. He held on as the huge demon bucked and roared, trying to shake him off. The Rider buried his teeth into the scaly flesh and began to tear out oozing chunks of meat. His grip was weakening. Any minute he was going to be tossed off, and then his troubles would only be beginning.

Sabbris dropped out of the air and landed on Mephisto's horn-covered head, wrapping her thighs around his neck and stabbing her fists into his hideous eyes.

"What are you doing!" the Rider screamed to her.

"I don't know!" she squealed, ducking as the claws swung at her. "Bring him down, Johnny! We have to bring him down!"

"Where's Blackheart?"

"The dragon-" Sabbris was knocked off of Mephisto's shoulders; she grabbed onto one of his six wings as she fell. There was a horrific snap and the demon howled in pain, his broken wing flapping loosely.

"YOU INSUFFERABLE REBELS!" he screamed, shaking his body to dislodge the pesky angel and demon. "I WILL DESTROY YOU ALL!"

"Don't let go, angel!" the Rider shouted. "It's the only chance we've got!"

Sabbris dug her fingers into the broken wing and held on for dear life.

High above their heads, far up in the smoky, ashy skies of Rome, Blackheart flew through the clouds, hoping to lose the raging beast that was pursuing him. He dodged, turned, cartwheeled through the air, anything to avoid those snapping jaws of death that always seemed to be getting closer. Nothing he was doing seemed to be working. He had to get out of the air. He wasn't as fast as the Beast, and he was quickly beginning to lose energy. Speed and agility weren't going to save him — only his wits could.

Drawing in a deep breath, he tucked his wings close to his body and let himself drop out of the sky. The dragon's jaws clipped together inches from his wings and then it snarled, followed Blackheart as he free-fell toward the rapidly approaching ground. The world became a tumbling tangle of streaks and blurs. Thirty feet from the ground. Twenty. Fifteen. Ten.

Blackheart spread his wings — it was like a parachute deploying. He felt himself slam to a halt two feet from the ground, and one last thrust of wings sent him swooping back up. He felt the torrent of air knock him away as the dragon, unable to stop itself, tore past him with a furious roar and slammed into the ground with enough force to throw up a mushroom cloud of dust and blood. A hail of rocks, ranging from pebbles to boulders, exploded into the air and struck Blackheart as he attempted to fly away. He crashed to the Earth once more and covered his head with his arms, curling into a ball and tucking his wings close.

He waited until the sound of falling stones had ceased and raised himself up from the dust. A shallow crater held the motionless body of the dragon, half-buried in rubble. Blackheart drew his sword and made his way toward the creature. At the edge of the crater he paused, peered down at it, watching for any signs of life. There were none. With a heavy sigh he wiped the sweat and blood from his brow and turned, readying himself to join Sabbris and the Rider in their mission to take down Mephisto.

But just as Blackheart spread his wings to leap forward, his eyes caught sight of a small figure huddled against a large boulder to his left. He lowered his sword and stepped toward the shape, trying to see through the thin whorls of dust and smoke. He stopped when he was a few paces away and stared, unbelieving.

Malinda raised her soot-streaked face and started at the sight of the raven-winged angel standing before her. She scrambled to her feet and froze, preparing to flee, her body tense and her eyes wide, like a frightened animal. Even through the dirt and grime that covered her clothes and hair, her family resemblance was unmistakable; one half of her was her father, the other half an unknown mortal woman who would never see her daughter again.

Blackheart saw pieces of himself reflecting back like a mirror, and he thought he finally understood what his mother had felt the first time she'd held his small body in her arms. How similar they were, he and this child. Nothing separated them save for their mothers' blood and a thousand years of empty time. And now they faced each other as enemies, fighting over the future of the mortal world.

Blackheart slowly sank down upon one knee, putting himself at the girl's level. He set his sword on the ground and drew his wings upon his back, trying to make himself seem as non-threatening as he could. "You're . . . a girl," he said, a faint smile upon his lips as he stared at the Antichrist, the abomination — his half-sister.

Malinda took a step back. "Who are you?" she demanded, though her voice trembled with fear.

Blackheart felt tears sting his eyes, and his heart ached for this poor, doomed child whose past was so similar to his own. "I'm your brother," he said gently. "Your father is my father, too."

Malinda looked skeptical. "How come you look like an angel? Angels are the enemy."

"I'm not your enemy."

"But you're with _them._" She pointed to the monstrous devil still thrashing and roaring under the assault of the Ghost Rider and Sabbris. "You're here to get rid of us!"

"We're here to save this world," Blackheart insisted, rising to his feet. "And I'm going to save you, too."

Malinda's doubtful expression slowly shifted to one of shock, and she raised her small hand to point at something behind her brother. A shadow fell over Blackheart, and he turned around to see a flash of black and red and white. And then the dragon's bleeding jaws slammed shut on him.

Malinda fell back with a horrified shriek that seemed to resonate through the air like a gunshot. The Ghost Rider looked up, the power of Zarathos extinguishing at the sight of Blackheart pinned between the dragon's teeth, being shaken back and forth like a rag doll.

"BLACKHEART!" Johnny screamed, and let himself be thrown to the ground by Mephisto. He quickly picked himself up and ran toward the dragon as fast as he could, leaving Sabbris behind. Without his help, the angel soon lost her grip and was tossed into the air. She collided against a sharp rock, striking her head with a solid impact and falling into a dark place somewhere between unconsciousness and death.

Malinda's mouth was open in an endless scream as Blaze threw himself into the scene; he sprang between the beast's front legs and grabbed hold of the broken chain that was still attached to its collar. Summoning the power of the Ghost Rider once more, he burst into flames and gave the chain a mighty pull. The dragon's head crashed into the ground, and Blackheart let out a cry of pain. "Sword!" he yelled, his voice choked with blood. "Get the sword!"

The Rider looked all about him, searching for the blade among the dirt and soot and piles of debris. The dragon reared up once more and the Rider was forced to rein him in. He couldn't let go — if that creature flew away with Blackheart, it was all over. The sight of him within the beast's mouth, wings pinned awkwardly and blood streaming from around the long teeth embedded in his body, was too much for Johnny to bear. He let out a furious roar and pulled, hand over flaming hand, dragging the creature closer. He wanted to kill it. He _was_ _going_ to kill it, even if he had to choke it to death with his own two hands.

Malinda, dangerously close to shock from the exposure of such violent imagery, sat down on the ground and covered her ears with her hands, shutting her eyes against the sight of that poor angel — her brother, he'd said he was — trapped in her vicious pet's jaws. Everything was suddenly frightening and unreal. Daddy was scaring her. This world was scaring her. She wanted it to stop. She didn't want to play this game anymore. She wished it would all just go away, and she'd wake up someplace pretty where nobody would ever ask anything of her again.

The muffled screams and roars still reached her ears, and she finally opened her blue eyes again, watching the horror unfold before her and feeling as if this chaos was somehow her fault. Then something caught her attention: a glimmer of shiny metal, something bright and pretty. She crawled forward and picked up the sword that the angel had set down. It was heavy; she could barely lift it. But it was so beautiful, and it made her feel so calm and happy-

"MALINDA!"

She gasped, turning at the sound of her father's voice. Mephisto was stalking toward her, his long arm reaching for her.

"GIVE ME THAT SWORD!"

His voice was angry, filled with hatred and insane urgency. Malinda turned back to look at the Ghost Rider, who was now attempting to pry apart the dragon's jaws with his own two hands. "The sword!" the angel kept screaming, his voice growing steadily weaker. "Get my sword!"

She turned to look at her father, the monster, and back once more to the dying angel and his friend. Malinda hugged the blade to her body and bolted. Mephisto let out a roar that shook the Earth like a shock wave, and the girl tripped and rolled into the dirt at the Rider's feet.

The Rider looked down when he felt something thump against his boots, and was astounded to see a ragged little girl raise her terrified face to him. In her arms was the Sword of Valor. "Take it!" she cried, holding it out to him. "Save him!"

The Rider reached down and grasped the golden hilt in his fiery red hand. The dragon jerked its head upward but was stopped by the chain, held in the Rider's other fist. With a hard pull the beast slammed into the ground, scrabbling and writhing in its fury, tearing great ruts in the ground. Blaze raised his arm and the Sword of Valor erupted with light, haloed by billowing white flames, the power of Heaven and Hell combined.

The light from the sword struck Mephisto's eyes, blinding him momentarily. He screeched and threw his spiny arm over his face, recoiling, while Malinda squealed and cowered, doubling over until her nose touched her knees.

The Rider brought the flaming blade down on the dragon's neck, slicing cleanly through it. The beast let out a strangled gurgle. Its body shuddered, went limp, and collapsed where it stood. Black blood and bile oozed from its severed head, and the Rider quickly cast the sword aside to pry the creature's dead, heavy jaws apart.

Blackheart's torso had been pierced by many teeth, some of them going almost all the way through. He tumbled from the dragon's mouth, trailing strings of saliva and loose black feathers, gasping raggedly for breath.

Johnny let the flames of Zarathos recede back into his mortal body, and he dragged Blackheart into his arms. He was so heavy, his wings like a pair of mangled deadweights on his back. Blaze stared with shock at the deep punctures that ran in a half-circle all over the angel's body. "Blackheart. Kiddo, can you hear me?" he asked softly, his voice cracking.

Blue eyes opened slowly, filled with pain and fear. Blackheart reached up with his shaking hand, grasped the collar of Johnny's jacket in a white-knuckled grip. His face was deathly pale, his lips shiny and red with blood. "J-Johnny," he choked, blinking rapidly as lines of tears rolled down the sides of his face. "Thank you for s-saving me. Now. So many t-times before. You did, you know. If it w-weren't for you-" He coughed, an ugly, wet sound as a mouthful of blood spilled over his chin.

Johnny clutched Blackheart close and squeezed him tightly. "Don't do this to me," he growled. "Don't you fucking do this, Blackheart, or I swear I'll . . ."

The angel smiled faintly, his eyes already taking on that faraway look. "It's okay," he whispered, his arms slowly relaxing. "It d-doesn't even hurt anymore."

Johnny pressed his trembling lips together tightly and let his tears fall. "No, kiddo, no," he sobbed, no longer caring about anything else. "Don't give up yet. It can't end like this . . ."

Malinda slowly rose to her feet, watching with new eyes as the man held the angel tenderly, speaking to him through his tear-choked voice. In all nine years of her life, never had she witnessed the pain of death, never felt the warmth of a loving embrace, never seen the grief caused by her and her father's actions. It came as a shock, a horror, and she wished none of it had ever happened. She wanted to feel this love. She wanted these people to stop crying and be happy. Why were they so sad? She didn't understand.

Johnny cradled Blackheart in his arms, even as the air around them filled with smoke and fire and the screams of millions of demons. It was over. They had failed the world. Johnny didn't mind. If he was going to die, bring it on. He was already dead — his flesh was the only thing about him that still lived.

"You know, Blackheart," he said with a smile, "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. You _and_ your mom. I'm glad we got this far."

Blackheart blinked slowly. "Sounds like you're giving up."

"Not yet," said Johnny, grasping the angel's hand. "I've got some unfinished business to take care of." He grinned. "I love you, kiddo. There's nothing on this Earth more real than that."

Blackheart smiled faintly, his eyes speaking his reply clearer than any words could. Johnny leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his bloody lips, and tenderly laid Blackheart upon the ground, careful not to bend his wings. "I'll see you soon," he whispered. He brushed the black hair from the angel's forehead and rose to his feet, scanning his surroundings.

Across the square, Mephisto was recovering from his temporary blindness and now he stormed toward them, so angry that flames rose from his body like a fury incarnate. There was no other word to describe him — he was Evil, in its purest and rawest form.

"Come on," Johnny uttered, summoning Zarathos for the last time. As his body ignited, he reached down and picked up the Sword of Valor. Fire raced up the blade, and the Rider stood his ground, waiting for the Devil to reach him.

Off to the side, Sabbris blinked her eyes and groaned, rolling over. Pain echoed through her every limb, and she was certain that she'd broken her right wing during the fall. Blood coursed down the side of her head, and the smoky air stung her already irritated eyes. A sudden shriek of metal drew her attention, and she turned her head in time to see sparks fly when the Sword of Valor, wielded by the Ghost Rider, and the long claws of Mephisto crashed against one another. The Rider swung and stabbed again and again, trying to strike the monstrous demon, but each time he was blocked by those deadly slashing claws.

Sabbris knew that he wasn't going to last much longer, not against the Destroyer of Worlds. She forced herself, through flashes of white-hot pain, to crawl to her knees, then to her feet, and walk toward the battling foes.

As the battle between Mephisto and the Ghost Rider raged on, Malinda crawled to Blackheart's side and stared down at him fearfully. His eyes were closed, his breaths coming shallow and weak. A crimson puddle was forming beneath him as he slowly bled to death. Malinda leaned down and gingerly touched his forehead with her small hand. "Angel?" she whispered. "Wake up, angel. Don't go to sleep."

Blackheart coughed, moaned, and his eyes fluttered open, fixing upon the girl's worried expression. "Don't," he rasped, "don't let him destroy you like he did me. You're a g-good kid. I know you are."

He raised his trembling, blood-soaked hands and twisted the silver ring — the Seventh Seal — from his finger. He took up the girl's small, dirty hand and slid the ring onto her thumb, leaving streaks of red on her pale skin. A gift that had become a legacy.

"I w-wish we had more time," Blackheart choked. "We could have been a family . . ." He sighed, letting his eyelids droop sleepily.

Malinda raised her hand to her face, awed by the twinkling, silver gift. No one had ever given her anything so pretty, not even Daddy. And now this kind angel was going to leave her all alone. Tears filled her eyes, and she reached down to grasp her brother's larger hand in her own small one. "Where are you going?" she asked frantically as she watched his eyes close. "Wait, don't leave! Wake up!" She shook his hand, but the grip was already loosening. "Don't go! _Don't go_!"

The sound of footsteps caused Malinda to raise her head. An angel, one white wing hanging brokenly, grasped the golden staff still buried in the dragon's decapitated head and wrenched it free. She turned, saw Malinda sitting at Blackheart's side, and stared wordlessly for a moment before looking away.

"_O God, come to my aid_," Sabbris recited under her breath as she strode toward Mephisto and the Rider. "_O Lord, make haste to help me._"

She stopped just short of the chaos, unnoticed by either of the battling opponents. "_Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit." _

She lifted her staff like a spear, calculating, waiting for the right moment. "_As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be_-"

She drew back her arm and hurled the rod, watching it sail through the ash like a golden streak. "_World without end_."

Mephisto was mid-lunge when the staff penetrated his chest like an arrow, thudding deeply into his infernal red flesh. He froze, white eyes wide with shock, and raised his head in a deafening, tormented bellow of agony. The Rider seized the opportunity, holding the sword before him and running forward, driving the blade into the Devil's body until the hilt struck flesh.

Mephisto screamed in pain and staggered back, the sword sliding from his body with a nauseating suction. He fell to the ground and writhed like a wounded snake, bleeding and screaming and clawing at the dirt. His demonic form began to shift and change, slowly morphing back into its weakened human shape. He clutched the wound in his belly, snarling like an animal and dragging himself away, cursing the Ghost Rider who was now stalking toward him.

Just as the Rider was near enough to finish Mephisto once and for all, a shaft of brilliant golden light shot down through the clouds and smoke in the sky above. It rained down like a stripe of purity and goodness in a world gone mad, and there came a crack of thunder so terrible that the power of Zarathos fled before its sound, leaving Johnny standing awkwardly on the still-rumbling ground.

Sabbris raised her bloody, dirt-covered face to the sky, tears of joy running down her cheeks. "They're here!" she cried, laughing. "Michael and the Host are here!"

Blaze raised his eyes to the sky, and felt the light pierce his pupils like needles. He looked away, having only caught a glimpse of a rolling white thunderhead crashing through the red atmosphere. Though the light of Heaven was too powerful for mortal eyes to look upon, Sabbris stood beneath the wave of angels that swept down, and laughed like a child in the rain, shouting and cheering as the Host began to violently battle with the airborne demons invading the Earth. The clash of armor was ear-shattering, the beating of wings like a million bolts of cloth unfurling in a strong breeze. All Heaven was breaking loose, and it was like an atomic bomb of pure energy and cool, clean air pushing away the smoke and poisonous fumes of the Apocalypse.

Johnny tripped and fell to the ground, picked himself up, and decided to let Mephisto deal with God's wrath on his own. He turned and ran across the quaking ground, avoiding low-swooping angels and streaks of light chasing the shadows back into the caverns from whence they came. He spied the little girl who had given him the sword, sitting beside Blackheart's body and holding his hand, sobbing uncontrollably. Blaze picked up speed, dodged a fleeing demonic spirit, and crashed into the dirt beside Blackheart.

"Get down!" he shouted over the din, a cacophony of wails and screeches and musical voices chanting battle cries in no human tongue. He set the sword down and reached over Blackheart's body, grabbing onto Malinda and pulling her down, his arms latched protectively over her head. The little girl stopped shrieking and cowered, whimpering as the battle roared in the air above them.

Johnny clenched his teeth and hoped it would all end, hoped that Heaven had the power to win, hoped that afterward something would be left of this world that was still worth living for. He didn't know. He had given up on rational thought by this point, and now crouched low over Blackheart, shielding him and that little girl from harm.

A sudden fatigue took hold of him, hitting Blaze like a welcomed tidal wave of peace. He relaxed, became calm and languid, and he suddenly didn't care about Heaven and Hell making a battlefield out of the Earth. It would all be okay — if he could just close his eyes and go to sleep, he'd wake up somewhere else, far far away from all this . . .

The little girl had fallen across Blackheart's chest, her hand tucked beneath her cheek as she slept soundly. Johnny watched her, wanting nothing more than to join her, though some part of him told him to fight the urge to sleep. _You might never wake up_, it said to him.

But the desire was too overpowering. The sounds of battle seemed to fade as Johnny closed his eyes and laid his head against Blackheart's shoulder. Just for a minute, he thought. Just . . . for . . .

And then there was silence.


	14. Full Circle

**﻿Full Circle**

Warm sunlight soaked through Johnny Blaze's black leather jacket and he sighed in his sleep, shifting his head to a more comfortable position. Slowly his thoughts came back to him, filling the emptiness of his mind. He opened his blue-green eyes and blinked against the light. Then he remembered: Rome. Hell. Mephisto. Blackheart. Heaven. Where was he?

Blaze sat up, surprised to find that no more pains or aches surged through his body, and even more surprised to find himself in the middle of the empty St Peter's Piazza, on a bright and beautiful Mediterranean morning. The air was cool and fresh, as if it had just rained. The barely visible arc of a rainbow rose up from the buildings, the biggest and brightest one Johnny had ever seen. The city was silent, no car horns or music or human voices; it was as if the world were holding its breath, waiting for time to catch up to it again. Pigeons cooed at the nearby fountain, splashing in the clear water. Up above was a blue sky filled with white cotton clouds, the beginning of a perfect, normal day.

_Am I dead?_

Johnny looked down and discovered Blackheart in his mortal form, neither dead nor bleeding, dressed in his dark clothes and long black coat, sleeping soundly with his arm around the little red-headed girl, who was lying against his chest and breathing quietly. With mounting alarm, Johnny examined himself: same leather pants, shirt, jacket, all clean and undamaged.

What in the hell had happened?

Blackheart suddenly moved, drawing in a long breath through his nose and blinking open his eyes. "Mm. John . . . ?" He sat up, carefully dislodging Malinda from her position. "What happened? Where are . . . Is this the-"

Johnny reached out and pulled the young man into a tight hug. "You're alive," he uttered thankfully, and drew back to take Blackheart's face in his hands and stare at it with amazement. "I thought you'd died. I thought we all did."

"Maybe we did," Blackheart whispered, a hint of fear showing in his expression. "Maybe this is-"

"Hey!" came a cheerful voice, and Johnny and Blackheart looked up to see Sabbris jogging toward them, her blond hair flying behind her as she waved excitedly, looking alive and unharmed. "It's all over!" she cried, slowing as she approached. "We won! Michael and the Host sent the demons back where they belong. The Apocalypse is over!"

"Over? But how?" Johnny asked incredulously. "It sounded like the world was being torn apart."

"It was, actually," said Sabbris. "But it was put back together when Mephistopheles conceded his defeat. You don't remember, do you? Hm. I wonder if the angels put you to sleep, too . . . That's what they did with the rest of humanity. Soon everyone will wake up again and remember nothing about this morning, thank God."

Blaze shook his head, for once grateful that he had missed the action.

"So what happens now?" Blackheart asked, putting his arm around Malinda as she groggily rubbed her eyes. "Do we just . . ." He struggled to say the words, unable to believe them. "Go back to our lives?"

Sabbris' eyes settled upon the little girl beside him and the smile faded from her face. "Not yet," she said quietly. "There are still some pieces of Hell lingering in the mortal realm . . . And they must be sent back."

Johnny did a double-take between the angel and the girl. "Wait, what do you mean? What's the kid got to . . ." He trailed off, his eyes widening. He stared at the girl clinging to her brother's coat, looking afraid and confused. "Holy shit. _She's_ the Antichrist?"

"Yes," said Sabbris concernedly, "and they're going to want to send her back."

"No," Blackheart said adamantly, pulling Malinda close. "She's staying here. She saved our lives."

"_Heaven_ saved your lives," said a firm male voice, and four heads turned to behold the Archangel Michael, standing in all his radiant glory with the three other archangels at his side. They all glared disapprovingly at Malinda, who cowered in her bother's arms, sheltering herself from these frightening beings of light. "The Antichrist must be destroyed."

Blackheart rose to his feet with a flash, grabbing the Sword of Valor that lay beside him and brandishing the blade at Heaven's most powerful angel. It was a suicidal move. "She's my sister," he muttered warningly, standing in front of her. "She was just like me, a victim of her father's powers."

"Then perhaps we should send _you_ back to Hell with her," Michael threatened, glowering darkly.

Johnny crawled up as Sabbris went white with terror. "Woah, woah, woah, everybody just calm down," he said, raising his hands in a gesture of truce. "Nobody's going anywhere-"

"Who do you think _ you_ are, human?" the archangel snapped, eying Blaze from head to toe. "Maybe Zarathos would like to share the fate of the rest of his friends-"

"Wait, Michael," said Raphael, stepping forward and placing a hand on his comrade's shoulder. "I believe Damael wants us to heal the Child." He stared directly at Blackheart. "Just as we healed him. Isn't that right, Damael?"

Blackheart lowered his sword, though he kept his hand firmly on Malinda's shoulder. "Can it be done?" he asked skeptically.

"We won't know until we try," replied Raphael, and he stepped forward a few paces before kneeling down and holding out his arm. "Come, child. It's all right. Don't fear."

Malinda peeked out from behind her brother's coat, her eyes large with fear. The angel smiled warmly at her. "That's it. Come forward and take my hand."

"Raphael," muttered Uriel warningly, "this is the Antichrist. To rid her of evil would mean her destruction."

"No," said Blackheart, watching as Malinda crept forward and put her small hand in Raphael's. "She's half human. It can be done." He sheathed the sword and stared defiantly at Michael, unable to keep his eyes from narrowing with distrust. "If the Prince of Hell can be saved, so can the Antichrist."

Michael returned the stare with a scowl. Johnny and Sabbris stood together nervously, feeling the tension in the air.

"Close your eyes, child," bade Raphael, and Malinda hesitantly did as she was told. Johnny moved closer to see what was happening, but Sabbris, who had already witnessed the horror of purification, deliberately looked away and nervously bit her lip.

"You're going to feel a bit breathless," explained Raphael, slowly letting his fingers melt into the girl's chest. "But don't panic, my dear. Squeeze my hand. That's it."

Malinda let out a whimper as she felt the angel's hand grasp her small heart. Blackheart reached out and put his hand on Johnny's arm. They shared a worried glance, then jumped with surprise as Malinda let out a scream and began thrashing.

Blackheart fell to his knees and grasped her shoulders, steadying her, even before Raphael called out for his assistance. Sabbris shut her eyes tightly while Blaze stared in disbelief as the Archangel of Healing slowly withdrew a thick black mass from Malinda's body. There was a burst, a bright flash, and the incarnated evil spattered onto the ground.

Blackheart caught his sister as she fell, unconscious, and lifted her into his arms, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Gabriel drew her sword and darted forward, stabbing the wriggling mass in its center. It hissed and squealed, dying on the holy blade, and then it slowly began to dissolve.

Raphael heaved a sigh of relief and stood up, flexing his hand. "I think it's done," he said, "though I cannot be certain."

"I'll let you know if it didn't work. I'll be taking care of her from now on," Blackheart said, then passed the angel a grateful look. "Thank you, Raphael."

The angel bowed his head slightly in acceptance and was just turning when a dark shadow appeared by the fountain, startling both the angels and the mortals.

Mephisto leaned heavily on his cane, his mortal body beaten and dripping black blood, his gray hair in disarray. He raised a shaking, accusing finger toward his two children. Anger seared his cold blue eyes as he snarled, "Give her to me."

Blackheart's mouth fell open in shock and Johnny stepped forward defensively, ready to fight. Sabbris huddled behind them, her eyes wide with awe.

Michael's feathers flared in aggravation as he clenched his powerful fists. "You filthy snake," he muttered through his teeth, drawing his sword. "How dare you show your ugly face here again!"

"I'm not talking to you," growled Mephisto, his eyes darkening. "I'm talking to my son."

"I'm not your son anymore," Blackheart snapped, passing Malinda into Johnny's arms and pulling the Sword of Valor from its sheath. "And I'm not letting you take my sister."

"You _worm_," the once-mighty demon spat, staggering forward on his wounded legs. "She isn't even your blood, yet you defend her as if you loved her — ha!"

"I do," he answered solidly. "You see, Mephisto, that's the thing about love. It doesn't need a reason to exist — all it needs is a heart to live in." His eyes shimmered for a brief second. "Johnny taught me that."

Michael suddenly smiled to himself, though his shift of expression was noticed by none.

The Devil, despite himself, was stunned by his son's words. "What?" he asked, glaring at the human as if he were a cockroach. "Johnny Blaze . . . You _gave yourself_ to Johnny Blaze? As if you were a filthy harlot?"

Blackheart didn't honor Mephisto with a reply. The battered demon began to laugh madly.

"Of course! I should have known you would follow in your mother's footsteps. She was a whore, too."

"Shut up," Blackheart snarled.

Mephisto continued to leer, chuckling to himself. "Ah, Lilith. It seems your foolishness passed also to our son, what a pity! She thought she could save you from me, but I'll tell you now, Atrocor, I'm here to stay, and I will haunt you for the rest of your days. You can't run from me, and you can't protect _her_, either. She is _my_ daughter, _my_ flesh, and she belongs to _me_."

Blackheart swung the Sword with a deep swoop of air and stepped toward Mephisto, challenging his estranged father once and for all. The demon recoiled with surprise, and raised his cane in time to have it split into two pieces by the sacred blade. He toppled to the ground in shock, finally looking upon his son with fear and respect.

"Atrocor, wait!" he pleaded, raising his hand beseechingly. "I am your father! Listen to me, I-"

"No," Blackheart muttered lowly. "I've wasted enough of my life listening to your lies."

Mephisto's eyes went wide, freezing at the precise moment the sword stabbed through his chest. He reached out, clutched the blade in his hands, and hissed lowly, a long drawn-out sound like steam escaping from a pressure chamber. He went utterly still for a moment, then smirked as he raised his head and stared at his son.

"So this is how you repay me for giving you life," he whispered, first his fingers turning into a black mist, then his hands. "You're a demon, Atrocor. You can run all you like . . . but you'll always . . . be . . ."

Blackheart clenched his teeth and drove the sword deeper. The Devil let out an unearthly howl, disappearing into a cloud of darkness. A fierce wind descended upon the basilica, scattering the black mist into the air until no trace of it remained.

The wind grew calm again. Silence returned, and so did the pigeons to the fountain, splashing and drinking as if nothing had ever happened.

Blackheart sank to his knees, letting the sword clatter from his grip. He put his face in his hands and wept openly, not out of regret, but relief.

The nightmare was over. Mephisto was dead. The father he had hated so much, who had destroyed nearly all whom he loved . . .

As Johnny and Sabbris rushed to his side, Gabriel turned to look at her partner. "What now, Michael?" she asked. "We cannot leave them as they are."

"We can and we will," said the archangel evenly. "Damael and his sister are the Guardians now. They need our help no longer."

The four angels gazed upon the figures huddled in St Peter's Basilica, embracing each other through tears and smiles, and slowly vanished from sight.

† † †

The hot June day in Rome drew to a quiet close. The tourists retreated to pubs and hotels to while away the rest of the evening, and the street vendors, pickpockets and alleyway artists returned to their homes. The doors of shops turned over signs that read '_chiuso_', and strays wandered the mazes between buildings, sniffing out their next meal. The moon rose over the silhouettes of chapel towers, trees and buildings, shining upon the Earth that had almost not survived the day. And the mortals that lived on its surface went about their lives, never knowing how close they had come to the End.

On a small bed within the monastery of _Catacombe di Priscilla_, Malinda slept deeply, untouched by dreams of Armageddon. Sabbris lay curled up at the foot of the bed, dozing intermittently. Both of them were tired, and rest was welcome after the hellish events of the day.

Footsteps sounded outside the door, and Johnny's easygoing voice said, "Hey, ladies, feel up for some — oh." He lowered his voice when he saw that they were sleeping. "Never mind." He retreated quietly on tiptoe, and returned to the old nun with the tray of sandwiches he was carrying.

"Sleeping," he said, closing his eyes and laying his head on his hand. "_Siesta_?"

"_Aah. Dormire_," the old woman smiled and nodded. She wrapped the food and put it away in the old refrigerator in the corner for later.

"Thank you," Johnny said. "Uh, _grazie_."

"_De nada, Signor Blaze_."

The man, with nothing left to do and feeling rather out of sorts, wandered through the stone corridors back to his own room. It was empty, occupied only by cold blue shadows. Blaze leaned against the door frame and wondered where Blackheart had gone. He hadn't seen him all evening.

Without another thought, Johnny left to go find him.

† † †

Blackheart had fallen into a despondent mood since he, Johnny, Malinda and Sabbris had returned to the monastery that morning. The nun and the monks were surprised to see them and the little girl they brought with them, but they asked no questions. They offered their guests rooms and the mismatched quartet of angels, mortals and demons had immediately fallen asleep, exhausted from dealing with so much chaos, death and destruction. It was almost unimaginable that they could finally rest without fear.

Though Blackheart was beyond tired, he kept waking up from unsettling dreams: images of his mother's blood on his hands, dying butterflies, green fields of flowers engulfed in flames, black feathers and beating hearts being consumed by shapeless beasts, merciless angels, pitiless devils, and screams that went on and on until he awoke with their echoes in his ears.

Blackheart had temporarily isolated himself, avoiding even Johnny's company as he sleeplessly paced the monastery halls. Blaze guessed that he was still mourning his mother and decided that it would be wise to leave him alone for a little while, let him make his peace. Johnny had a lot he wanted to tell Blackheart, but it could wait. They all needed some time to sort things out for themselves.

Of all of them, Blackheart was the most changed by the war; he'd lost both of his parents, lost his royal status in Hell, but had redeemed himself with Heaven, earning him a place among the earth-bound angels as the Guardian of the Sword of Valor. The Host still regarded him with wary, watchful eyes — he was very much a wolf among dogs, and if the ebony color of his wings wasn't proof of that difference, then nothing was.

Blackheart didn't seem to care if Heaven favored him or not. His concerns had turned toward the future, his little sister, and how they were going to blend in with ordinary mortals, if it could be done. And in the back of his mind lurked the pain of Lilith's passing, the fear of the next ruler of Hell coming after him, and the worry of beginning a new life on Earth. He needed to be alone, just for a little while, which is why he slipped out of the monastery and into the twilight streets, walking without direction or purpose, wandering aimlessly. He felt as if that was what he had been doing all his life: drifting through time with no one to guide him or care for him. But Johnny would. Johnny would make things better somehow. He always did.

He walked on, dipping in and out of the shadows like a wraith, his thoughts chasing him through the streets of Rome. He turned at the corner, approaching the broad wall that surrounded the Vatican. He paused, looking up, and realized that he had one last thing to do before he left the Holy City. He crossed the street, making his way toward the entrance.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't even realize he was being followed.

† † †

The Sistine Chapel was silent, the crowd of bustling tourists that poured through the Vatican museum long vanished. Blackheart stood solemnly in the middle of the floor, staring up at Michelangelo's most famous accomplishment, _The Creation of Adam_. Every delicate crack and crinkle, every sinew and fold of cloth, every line and shadow that made up the masterful work of art, was powerful and moving, more soul-gripping that even the most fervent sermon.

It was almost ironic that such a holy and beautiful thing had come from a mortal's gifted hand.

Blackheart turned, keeping his neck craned, admiring the huge fresco from another angle.

"Don't do that for too long," came an echoing voice. "You're gonna get a stiff neck."

Blackheart lowered his head to see Johnny saunter up to him, hands in his pockets, smiling thinly in the darkness of the chapel.

"It'd almost be worth it," Blackheart answered, raising his eyes to the ceiling once more. "It's so beautiful."

"I know," said Johnny, but he wasn't looking at the ceiling.

The tone of the man's voice caused Blackheart to turn his eyes toward him, and his heart reminded him of its presence when he saw the tender look in Johnny's eyes.

Their hands brushed against one another, then slowly slid into a comfortable grasp. Blackheart returned Johnny's wane smile with a sad one of his own. "Johnny . . ." he started, but was left struggling to find words. He hung his head. "I don't think I can ever repay the debt I owe you."

"You owe me nothing," he replied, reaching up to brush his thumb against Blackheart's warm cheek. "I did what I did out of love, not obligation."

The angel grinned, recalling his life almost a week ago, days that were so distant that they scarcely seemed to be a part of his own past. "But it didn't start out with love," he said.

"Nothing meaningful ever does."

Blackheart met Johnny's eyes, then glanced away with uncertainty. "Are you going to leave me?"

Blaze's heart clenched. He stared at his comrade, his friend, his lover, and let his hand fall away. "Why did you ask me that?"

"Because I want to know."

Johnny said nothing for a moment, thinking carefully about his next words. "I don't belong in your life, Blackheart. Or your sister's. You've got your own lives to live now, and having me around will only complicate things."

"Are you saying that because you mean it," Blackheart asked, "or because you're afraid?"

"Both." He stepped closer, his arms brushing against the angel's black coat. "I'm doing this because I love you."

Anger creased Blackheart's brow. "If you loved me you'd stay with me," he murmured. "Don't abandon me when I need you most, Johnny."

Blaze slid his arm around Blackheart's neck and embraced him. "Kiddo, I will never abandon you. I'm gonna help you all that I can."

"And then when you're through you're going to leave," Blackheart muttered against Johnny's shoulder, his voice muffled and full of contempt. "You're going to get on that stupid fucking bike and leave me, just like you left your girlfriend and your father and everything else in your life."

"That's not true," Johnny objected, but Blackheart's words had already stung him with the undeniable truth. He swallowed dryly, holding the angel against his chest. "I'll come back. I promise."

Blackheart gently pushed Blaze away and took a step back. His distress was apparent. "That's not good enough."

"That's all I can offer; you can't go through life clinging to others, kiddo. You need to learn to stand on your own, and that'll never happen if I'm around."

Blackheart shut his mouth and let the frustration fill his eyes with tears. Johnny stared at him, his face plain and honest, yet apologetic.

"I gave you my heart," the angel muttered bitterly. "I gave you my body and my soul, and all you can give me is a paper-thin promise."

"Blackheart, please don't be like this-"

"Why not? I've got every right!" He was shouting now, tears running down his distraught face. "I killed my father! My mother died in my arms! And now the only person I've ever loved is leaving me because it's for my own good! Why? How could you do this to me, you bastard!"

He jerked away as Johnny reached for him, but the man's arms caught him on his next attempt to escape. He resisted the embrace, refused to give Blaze the satisfaction of seeing his tears, but it was useless fighting against somebody whose strength was not stolen by sorrow. Blackheart gave in, pressed his face into Johnny's shoulder and cursed him uselessly. His sobs became quiet whimpers, and Johnny rocked him gently back and forth, petting Blackheart's soft, dark hair soothingly.

"It's gonna be okay, kiddo," he whispered. "Trust me. Have faith in me."

Blackheart choked at the recollection of those words, and felt in the depths of his aching heart that Johnny was right, something that hurt more than any sword's cut or dragon's bite. He would have to trust, even if every bone in his body said not to. He had to have faith, even if his mind told him it was pointless. Because if he didn't have those, then they'd both had nothing to begin with.

"Close your eyes," Johnny said, drawing back and placing his palms over Blackheart's face, hiding his blue eyes from view. "Trust." He moved close, letting his breath linger against the angel's smooth lips, savoring each painful, beautiful second that passed. "Faith." Then skin melted into skin, warm and thick and sweet, and separated after one timeless moment with a quiet gasp.

"Do you feel that?" Johnny murmured.

"Y . . . yes."

"Then it must be real. Right?"

The hands fell away, and when Blackheart opened his red-rimmed eyes, Johnny Blaze was still there. At last he seemed to understand, see things for the circle that they had become. He closed his eyes once more, becoming blind, seeing nothing but feeling everything.

Johnny smiled and shut his eyes, leaning forward to meet Blackheart's lips again.

In the shadows of the Sistine Chapel, two silhouettes melted together under God's stern face and Adam's wondrous, awakened eyes.


	15. Epilogue

** Epilogue**

In a dim, smoky bar just outside of Moab, Utah, a young man with heavily tattooed arms sat in the corner, tossing his switchblade into the wooden table again and again. His name was Spence Maclean, and he'd spent the whole night sending death glares at Hank West, and thinking about how he was going to corner that fat son of a bitch in the bathroom and cut him up like a Christmas ham. Nobody was going to take away his bike, even if it was lost fair and square in a bad hand of Texas Hold 'Em.

West laughed one more time with the rest of his buddies, and then made his way toward the men's room in the back. Time to move. Spence pocketed his knife and stood up, crossing the barroom with slow, steady strides; a prowling tiger going in for the kill.

As he passed, a man seated at the bar casually stuck his left foot out in front of Maclean, and the young thug tripped and fell on the floor with a loud bang.

All conversation grew quiet and every eye in the room turned to stare at Spence, who lurched from the floor with a snarl and shoved the man at the bar, hard.

"You got somethin' you wanna say to me, pal?"

"Sure do," replied the man, raising calm eyes.

Spence invaded the stranger's personal space, going nose to nose with him in challenge. "You sure 'bout that? 'Cause I don't think you wanna fuck with me right now, partner."

"Really? I think now would be the perfect time."

Before Spence even saw it coming, a fist landed in his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. Never had he been hit by anything so hard. He gasped and doubled over, only to have the other fist connect with his cheekbone and send him sprawling to the floor. The bar patrons watched with silence as the screaming, cursing young man was hauled to his feet by the stranger and dragged out the back door, flailing helplessly.

Behind the Haulin' Hog Roadhouse, Johnny Blaze punched Spence one more time and slammed him up against the side of the building. Though the younger man drew his knife, he lost it when Blaze pinned his wrist against the wall and kneed him in the groin. Spence lost his bravado and began to wail like the cowardly bully he'd always been.

"Don't kill me, man," he choked as Johnny lifted him off his feet by the collar of his jacket. "Please don't kill me!"

"You'd beg for your own life," Johnny growled, his skin turning a bright red, "and take another's. Right, kid?"

Spence didn't reply. He could only stare in terror as the man in front of him burst into flames, the flesh melting off his face and revealing a grinning white skeleton with hellfire eyes.

"Do you know what happens to murderers and thieves?" the Ghost Rider snarled, staring at the wayward youth. "They go to Hell. And they _burrrn_."

Spence, mesmerized by the demon's eyes, felt his soul ignite in a fire that burned like acid and needles. Every sin he'd ever committed flashed before his eyes: stealing his neighbor's car, setting fire to his stepmother's trailer, robbing a convenience store, sending a cop to the ER with multiple stab wounds, the would-be murdering of Hank West in the men's room . . .

"But I didn't kill nobody!" Spence wailed, wriggling helplessly in the demon's iron grip. "I'm innocent! I didn't kill no one!"

"_Yet_," the Rider muttered, and released the young man. He fell to the ground, trembling and cowering, fearing for his life.

"Keep it that way. If you don't, I'll be there to take you to Hell myself." The demon crouched down eye-to-eye with Spence, who recoiled as far as the wall would allow him. "Look into my eyes. See my wrath. See what sin becomes." He slowly stood, and the flames dissolved around Johnny Blaze's stern, hard face.

"Now go," he ordered, pointing away from the bar. "Go and sin no more."

Wiping the half-dried blood from his mouth, Spence clambered to his feet and ran. He jumped into his beaten pickup truck in the parking lot and started it frantically, then roared away into the night, spewing gravel and dust from beneath his tires as he thundered down the road, never to be the same person again.

Blaze watched until the red taillights disappeared from view, then sighed heavily. He trudged across the lot to his bike, a beautiful shiny black chopper with the name "Faith" airbrushed onto the tank in flaming red lettering. The bike started with a rumble, and Johnny steered Faith onto the pavement once more, heading west.

Heading home.

† † †

The end-of-school bell rang at Fortuna Junior High, and Elizabeth Becker ran from her last class to meet her best friend at her locker. "Oh my God I _hate_ home ec," she muttered, juggling an armful of text books as she opened her own locker. "I just got my grade back on those raisin cookies and it was a C. My mom is going to _kill_ me."

"Don't feel so bad," said Milly Black, shutting her locker and giving Liz a hopeless look. "I made a _ D_ on my biology project."

Liz opened her mouth in shock as she and Milly walked down the hall. "Oh crap, your brother's gonna go ballistic when he finds out!"

"_If_ he finds out," Milly corrected. "_I'm_ not telling him."

The two 13 year-old girls stepped out of the school and into the bright California sunlight, and walked down the sidewalk toward the waiting buses. Something sparkled at Milly's neck: a simple silver ring on a sterling chain. She had it tucked carefully beneath her blouse, the same way she'd worn it for the past four years, safe and secret, just as she'd been advised.

"Um, yeah, speaking of your brother," Liz said as casually as she could, "is he coming to pick you up today?"

"No. He's working so I'm taking the bus." Milly narrowed her eyes at her friend suspiciously. "Why do you wanna know?"

Liz shrugged and smiled. "Oh, no reason. He's only like the _cutest guy_ I've ever seen in real life-"

"Eeww!"

"Seriously! When he shows up on his motorcycle wearing that leather jacket and those sunglasses, I could just keel over and _die_-"

"You've got a _crush_ on my _brother_? Gross!"

"I know he's too old for me, but still, he is _hot _. . . And don't tell him I said that!"

"You're a perv! I'm gonna tell him everything!"

"You wouldn't!"

The girls continued to chatter and squeal as they boarded the big yellow school bus, taking their seats together. Liz pulled out her mp3 player and handed one earbud to Milly, and the two of them listened to pop music and gossiped about their families and classmates and teachers until the bus ground its gears and started on its familiar route. The typical ending to a typical day of school; nothing special, nothing ominous, nothing bad.

Just another day to Malinda Black, the girl who had forgotten who she had been.

† † †

A sleek black motorcycle turned off the paved road and onto a long gravel driveway that led through the trees, rumbling slowly up the path to a stone carriage house set back in a grassy, tree-lined clearing. Ivy crept up the front face and wrapped around the three windows on the second floor, trimmed back to keep from crawling up the broad, steep roof. Tangled bushes of wildflowers littered the front garden, lacking symmetry and pruning but nevertheless lovely — and filled with butterflies. The lawn was a bit shaggy and the shutters needed a new coat of paint, but the shabbiness of the house and yard made it somehow comfortable and appealing.

The doors of the garage were wide open, and the familiar tune of _Are You Lonesome Tonight_ greeted Johnny's ears. He put up the kickstand and walked to the garage door, his boots crunching on the gravel, inaudible over the warm, melodious vocals of Elvis Presley. Johnny looked inside and watched, not making his presence known, wanting to see what things were like when he wasn't there.

The interior of the garage was littered with easels, paint cans, airbrushing tools, and work desks covered with rolls of canvas and lumber. Posters of classic cars and hot rods hung on the walls beside drying oil paintings. Spattered drop cloths lay crumpled on the floor, and in the center of this chaos stood Blackheart, scratching careful amounts of paint onto a large canvas with the palette knife. His shirt, jeans and hands were speckled and streaked with a muddy rainbow of colors, his blue eyes entirely concentrated upon his work. His hair was longer now, dark bangs falling across his brow and wispy ends curling at the back of his neck. A five o'clock shadow covered his jaw, but it only made him look that much more human. He seemed slimmer than the last time Blaze had seen him, but Blackheart had always been rather lanky; that long black coat he used to wear was good at hiding his slim physique.

From his vantage point, Johnny watched with amazement as a single brush of the palette knife created depth, dimension, and life. In its own way it was a form of magic: making something out of nothing, bringing life to a flat piece of blank canvas, a talent possessed by few. Blaze didn't have to wonder what had brought on this inspiration — the visit to the Sistine Chapel was all it had taken to spark a fire of obsession. Like Michelangelo, Blackheart was driven by an urge to compose and create, a desire to make beautiful things with which to fill the world. Perhaps it was a way of atoning for his dark, destructive past. Perhaps it was an outlet for all the emotions that now swam in the turbulent sea of his heart, including the grief that he still felt for his lost mother. Whatever Blackheart's reason, it was obviously his destined path. He'd told Johnny years ago that he wanted to try painting, and now it seemed as if the fledgling art student had found his niche.

Johnny grinned crookedly. "Your mom would be so proud of you."

Blackheart turned around, his eyes wide with shock. "Johnny," he said breathlessly, dropping his palette and knife on the table. He broke into a wide smile and strode forward quickly. "Johnny!"

"Kiddo," the man answered, catching him in a hug so tight it seemed as if their bodies would never come apart. Blackheart smelled faintly of linseed oil and cologne, he felt warm and solid — not a dream, real. "How've you been?"

"All right," Blackheart lied, pulling back and grinning at Blaze. "Business as usual."

Johnny hooked his arm around Blackheart's shoulders and admired the current work-in-progress: a hazy, choppy ocean of gray stretching toward a horizon of shattered glass. Dream-like birds flew above the grim sea, soaring in and out of the jagged, broken sky. "This is amazing, kiddo. I don't know how you do it. Another commission, right?"

"Yeah. Some designer down in Frisco wants a dozen of these. He made me an offer on my Butterflies series, but I had to turn him down."

"Aah," Blaze nodded. The seven large paintings that Blackheart had first made, each one a tribute to the last few days he'd spent as the Prince of Hell, were deeply personal and beyond priceless to him. Dealers all over California had come to see them at local exhibits, and every time Blackheart had refused to sell them. That alone was enough to drive art enthusiasts wild, and the angel had found himself a job that would pay better than automotive airbrushing down at the Bass Fortuna Garage. But he was good at that, too, evidence by the lettering on Faith, which Blackheart himself had painted on four years ago.

Four years. Had it really been that long?

"I don't think I ever thanked you for helping me out in the beginning," Blackheart said quietly. "I wouldn't be where I am now without you, Johnny."

"Ah, kiddo." Blaze smirked and gave the young man a squeeze. "There's no need to thank me. I basically pushed you into the water and told you to swim or sink. And you swam like a fish." He chuckled. "Now you're the famous Cory Black, greatest artist in northern California, and you've got no one to thank but yourself. I always knew you had the strength to stand on your own."

"It would have been easier if you'd been there to stand with me."

Johnny gave his head a weary shake. "Trust me, you were better off. If I'd stuck around like you wanted me to, you'd probably still be down at the Fortuna Garage, wasting your talent on hot rods and motorcycles."

Blackheart gazed at the empty canvases stacked against the wall. "I almost wish you _had_ stayed," he murmured. "What's a few paintings in exchange for true happiness?"

Johnny felt his throat tighten uncomfortably, and a knot formed in his stomach. "So, uh, where's Mills?" he asked as casually as he could.

"She's probably just getting out of school," Blackheart said, breaking away to tidy the mess and clean his brushes.

"Ah." Blaze stuck his hands in his pockets. "How's she doing?"

Blackheart carefully washed his tools and brushes in the small sink set up in the garage. Diluted paint and water swirled down the drain. "Better," he answered. "The nightmares seem to have stopped for now. At least she doesn't wake up screaming about demons and dragons anymore."

Johnny nodded. "Can't blame her. I still have dreams myself . . . How is she fitting in here?"

"Fine. Better than I am. She's in junior high now, plays on the school softball team . . ." Blackheart dried his hands off on a paint-stained towel. "She's a pretty normal kid. Her science grades could use some improvement, but she's doing well in all other subjects. I think she plans to try out for chorus with her friend Elizabeth next year."

"Really? That's good. How old is she now? Twelve?"

"Thirteen, going on fourteen." Blackheart looked up and gave Johnny the tired, helpless grin of a much-hassled older brother. "I've heard the teen years are the worst."

"Nah, you're close enough to her age that she's not gonna go through the hate-her-parents phase. She'll be fine. Couldn't be any worse than when she was the Antichrist."

Blackheart dried his hands off on a paint-stained towel. "I hope so. Last January she . . ." He made a strained expression and ran his fingers through his raven hair. "Well, she officially, uh . . . _became a woman_, if you get me."

"Oh?" Then Johnny eyes went wide with the realization. "_Oh_. Jeez. I don't know what to say."

"Neither did I," Blackheart admitted, leaning against the table. "I'd forgotten all about that part of human development. So much for being the only person she could talk to about anything." He shook his head. "I had to call Sabbris to help me out. Sisters don't want to talk to their big brothers about that kind of stuff."

"Sounds like you had a hell of a day."

"Yeah. Made the Apocalypse look like a birthday party."

"But everything's okay now, I guess?"

"Yeah, Sabbris got her to stop crying, talked with her a bit, and by dinnertime everything was normal again. I don't know what I'd do without that angel — I wish she'd visit us more often."

"She and Milly get along okay?"

"Yeah, they're great together. Sometimes better than me and Milly." Blackheart paused and stood up. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't keep you standing out here. Want to come in and sit down?"

"Sure. Let me get my bag."

Johnny went back to his bike and unstrapped his all-purpose leather satchel, shouldered it, and followed Blackheart up the stairs to the second story, which ended at a door that led to a small, cozy kitchen. There was a small dining table set off to one side, bare except for a few of Milly's fashion magazines and a bowl of fruit: four bananas and a handful of large, plump blueberries. Three stained glass butterflies dangled in front of the large kitchen window, catching the sun's rays and sending colored light dancing across the counter top.

Blackheart went to the stove and turned the kettle on. "You want anything to drink? Coffee, tea . . . ?"

"Water would be fine, thanks."

Blackheart grinned. "Right. Always water."

"I've become that predictable, huh?" Blaze joked.

"It's not a problem," Blackheart insisted quickly. "It's good to know that some things haven't changed."

Johnny smirked and moved over to stand in front of the refrigerator. It was covered with a variety of magnets, many of them holding snapshots of Milly and who Johnny guessed was her best friend Elizabeth. Blackheart was in a few photos: grinning at the camera with Milly sitting behind him on his motorcycle; wincing as he was smacked with a water balloon while Milly screamed with laughter; standing on the front steps with Milly on Halloween, wearing a cowboy hat and a familiar pair of black snakeskin boots while his sister was dressed in a gypsy costume. There was even one of Sabbris and Blackheart decorating Milly's 11th birthday cake. They were both covered in powdered sugar and Sabbris had blue icing in her hair. Blackheart was grinning, his arm slung casually around her neck, and Sabbris was flashing a peace sign. Johnny felt a small pang of jealousy in his heart. Everybody looked happy. A happy family of angels and misfits.

"Nice pictures," he commented, joining Blackheart at the table. He took a long sip from his ice water while Blackheart stirred a cup of freshly-brewed tea. "A few more than the last time I was here."

Blackheart smiled thinly. "A lot happens in four years."

A brief silence fell between them, lonely and full of unspoken thoughts.

"So . . . have, uh," said Johnny awkwardly, "you found anyone special yet?"

"Special?"

"Yeah, you know." Blaze winked. "Special. Like a girl, or-"

"What? No, no," Blackheart suddenly chuckled and went red. "No girl. No one special."

"Really? Not even Sabbris? I mean, you two just seem so close . . ."

"No, it's not like that. Sabbris and I are friends and nothing more. And she's . . . Well, you know, she's got her angel things to do. She's barely around more than you are. Besides, Milly would think I was sick if I suddenly started going out with 'Cousin Abbi'."

Johnny tried not to let his relief show. "Oh. I see. But . . . I mean, not even a _girlfriend_ or someone you like-"

Blackheart put his cup down. "No," he said firmly, looking annoyed by all the personal questions. "No girlfriends. No casual dates. I don't need it. I'm a contract artist now and all my free time is spent with my sister and myself."

Blaze leaned back and gave the angel a tender look. "Maybe you should _make_ time," he said gently.

"Maybe _you_ should," Blackheart rebutted.

A tense silence fell, and Johnny realized that he was pushing too hard. He knew, as Blackheart obviously did, that forming relationships with normal people would be difficult, if not impossible. He knew this because he had been through the same thing with Roxanne. There would always be the fear of the truth being discovered, the fear of the government catching up with you and locking you and your loved ones up in some place like Area 51. And the last thing Blackheart and Milly needed in their lives was more trauma and pain. Being orphans was difficult enough.

But perhaps even more difficult was the concept of moving on. Because sometimes, when you loved someone enough, the thought of a life without them seemed unimaginable.

"You're right," Johnny admitted. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to press."

"It's okay." Blackheart shrugged one shoulder, dismissing the subject. "No harm done."

"I just . . . I just want you to be happy, that's all."

The angel's smile faded. "I _am_ happy," he murmured, staring at Johnny. "At least now."

Blaze stared back into those blue eyes, his heart growing hot and sore with need. He reached across the table and laid his hand on Blackheart's, on the cool soft skin that was still spattered with stubborn paint, and relished the feeling of the bond between them reconnecting.

So much time, so much distance. From the deserted train yard where they first met to San Venganza where they last parted as enemies; from an icy tomb in Hell to a mother's warm embrace; from an overflowing tub in a motel bathroom to a rattling, rumbling train car; from bloodstained bandages in Phoenix to warm, bare skin in Rome. Each memory arose within Johnny like ghosts from the grave, haunting him with their sweet, beautiful whispers. He looked at Blackheart, at the clear blue eyes that belonged to Heaven's sky, at the soft curving lips he longed to touch again, at the face he had once held and swore to never betray . . . and Johnny knew that there was no going back.

A low rumble faded into hearing from down the road, then the squeal and huff of a school bus engine. A few moments later the rumble picked back up and faded away. Blackheart looked at Johnny and grinned slightly. Then there came a voice from down below: "Uncle Johnny!"

Footsteps pounded up the stairs and the kitchen door was thrown open. Hands quickly pulled apart as Milly burst into view.

She had really bloomed into a lovely young girl; she was tall, angular and slim, like the mother she could barely remember. Her fair skin was lightly freckled, and she had traded her long locks for a shorter, more mature cut. Her shoulder-length red hair fell messily over her collar, her bangs tucked back by a headband. She broke into a huge smile when she saw her beloved 'Uncle' and threw herself into his arms.

"I _knew_ you were here — I saw your motorcycle! Cory didn't tell me you were coming!" she cried happily, hugging the man while he laughed.

"I wanted it to be a surprise. Ow, take it easy on the old bones there, Mills!"

Milly pulled back and sat down at the table between Johnny and her brother, beaming excitedly. "Where've you been? Cory told me you've been up north. You didn't bring me anything, did you?"

"As a matter of fact, I did." Johnny reached down into the satchel by his chair, dug around for a moment, and pulled out a small package. He passed it across the table to the happily-surprised girl. "Consider it a belated birthday present."

Milly gave Johnny an adoring look and carefully tore into the present. Johnny and Blackheart exchanged quick glances and smiles with one another, before Milly's screech of delight made them both wince.

She held up a pair of delicate silver barrettes fashioned into the shapes of butterflies and flowers, carved from mother of pearl. "Oh, Uncle Johnny! They're beautiful!"

"I got them at this little handmade jewelry shop in Maine," he explained, smiling. "I saw them and I thought of you."

Milly, giddy with glee, pulled the headband out of her hair and pinned back her reddish-brown bangs with the new gifts.

"Just as I thought. You look stunning. Bla — uh, Cory's going to have to lock you up to keep the boys from beating down your door."

Milly laughed and gave Johnny another hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you so much, Uncle Johnny!"

"Anything for you, sweetheart."

"How long will you be staying?" she asked hurriedly, glancing between her brother and Blaze.

"Um . . . I'm not sure," Johnny answered, trying to keep his eyes off of Blackheart. "A day or two, maybe."

"Great! I'm only asking because Lizzie invited me over to spend the night at her house tonight and I already said yes, but that was before I knew you were here."

"Spend the night? It's Thursday and you've got school tomorrow," Blackheart said in a disapproving tone.

Milly made a dramatic face and wheedled, "But she lives right down the road. Her mom will get us to school on time, I promise!"

Blackheart crossed his arms and gave her The Look. "What about that science project of yours? Have you gotten the grade back for it yet?"

Milly went white for a second, then hung her head in defeat. "Yeah."

"That bad, huh?"

". . . yeah. I got a D."

Blackheart sighed disapprovingly. "You know the rules about bad grades, Mills."

"I know, I know. Fine. You win. I'll just stay at home tonight and be miserable-"

"Aw, Cory, let her go," Johnny said with a wave of his hand. "You're only young once. Besides, she's got her head on straight. She'll make up for it somehow."

"I don't know, Johnny. A D is pretty low."

"Aw hell, it's biology. Nobody likes that crap. Give the kid a break."

"Oh hey," Milly interjected, "I made a 98 on my history report last week. That's gotta count for something, right?"

"See? She's a good student."

Blackheart's gaze wandered from Milly to Johnny, then back to Milly again. He sighed in resignation and Milly grinned happily, throwing her arms around her brother's neck. "Thanks, Cory! You're the best!"

"Yeah, yeah," he rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. "Get your things together and I'll drive you over."

"Can Uncle Johnny take me? I haven't seen him in forever, you know."

"Alright, but be sure to wear your helmet."

"I _will_. I wasn't born yesterday."

"And Johnny? No Amazing Blazing stunts, okay?"

"Cross my heart, hope to die." Johnny drew an invisible X over his heart and smiled at Blackheart. The angel relaxed from his tense state and returned the smile with a hint of melancholy. It was settled. Milly ran to gather her things.

† † †

Johnny returned a half hour later and parked Faith in the garage beside Blackheart's dark blue Commando. The angel was waiting for him, wearing his snakeskin boots and a black leather jacket to ward off the spring chill still lingering in the late afternoon. He grinned slyly at Blaze and cocked his head.

"We've got a few hours to kill before dark," he said. "The road out to Cannibal Island is pretty nice this time of year. Four mile straightaway, too."

Johnny smiled. "You know my Harley is no match for your Norton."

Blackheart zipped up his jacket and strode forward. "I didn't have racing in mind," he said, sliding into the seat behind Johnny. "Just a little ride for old times' sake."

Blaze smirked and gave Faith a kick. "Better hold on."

Blackheart's arms were already around his waist before he'd even finished his sentence. With a dusty roar they left the gravel driveway and hit smooth asphalt, following the long road west. The fresh wind whipped passed them, tossing their hair and cooling their cheeks. The vibration of Faith's steady purring lent a trove of memories to its riders that came all the way through the seat and straight to the heart.

Blackheart tightened his grip a little and leaned with the bike as it went around a corner, no longer afraid of the pavement passing swiftly beneath them. Johnny let his back sink against the warm body behind him, thinking about how good and how right it felt to have Blackheart riding with him again. It filled him with an exhilarating sense of euphoria as he isolated his mind solely upon this moment: nothing but the road before him, his bike under him, and the love of his life behind him.

Blaze's gloved hands tightened on the grips.

_The love of his life _. . . and the inexplicable fear that stood like a brick wall between them, keeping at bay the one piece of true happiness they both longed to possess.

Blackheart seemed to be thinking the same thoughts, and he laid his cheek against Johnny's jacket and closed his eyes, holding on like he never wanted to let go. "You should stay this time," he murmured, though his words were stolen by the wind and lost in the thunder of Faith's engine. "We could make it work."

"What?" Johnny shouted over the noise. "I didn't catch that."

"Nothing," Blackheart replied. "I'll tell you later."

They rode down Redwood Highway without a word, then turned onto the long straight road that led out to the ocean. They parked on a rocky ridge where the pavement ended, listened to the sound of the surf crashing against the shore. Time seemed to pass too quickly as they sat on the rocks side by side, breathing in the salty ocean air, silently watching the sun sink through the clouds and into the Pacific Ocean.

The night wind picked up, carried across the rolling waves, and Blackheart turned to Johnny in the dusky light. His dark hair was battered by the breeze. "It's getting late," he said. "We should start heading back."

"Good idea. This wind is bone-chilling, even for the Rider."

Blackheart grunted a laugh as he mounted Faith and pressed close to Johnny. "There's a café in Fernbridge. They've got the best apple pie in the Northwest."

"Hm," Johnny murmured, "I was kinda in the mood for pizza. How 'bout you?"

Blackheart grinned, the last fading rays of light caught in his shining blue eyes. "Always."

† † †

There was a little mom and pop pizzeria on the corner of Main and 10th, and that was where Johnny and Blackheart found themselves that Thursday night. They lingered there for hours, feeding quarters into the jukebox, making several attempts at lighthearted conversation. Johnny told jokes and road stories, and Blackheart talked about Milly and his art career. No matter how hard they both tried, however, their banter always seemed to dry up and go stale, as if they were forcing themselves to talk for the sake of relieving the discomfort between them. It was sad. They used to be able to speak to one another freely — what had happened to those days?

They left shortly after closing time, saying goodbye to Mr and Mrs Wilburn and taking the leftover pizza back home in a box.

It was late by the time Faith pulled into the garage. Blackheart locked up downstairs and put the pizza in the fridge, and Johnny stepped into the shower, washing off the grime and dust he'd acquired over three states and two days of travel. A while later he emerged, feeling refreshed but weary from a long day, and began to unpack his bag in the living room, arranging the cushions on the couch to form a makeshift bed.

Blackheart timidly entered in the living room, wearing a loose pair of flannel pajama pants and a thin t-shirt. He crossed his arms and watched Johnny spread a blanket over the sofa. "You . . . don't have to sleep out here," he said hesitantly, quietly.

Johnny looked up, pausing. The angel met his eyes briefly and then glanced away, his manner flighty. Blaze muttered, "I think Milly's bed is a bit small for me."

"Mine isn't."

Johnny's heart thudded. His mouth went dry. It almost seemed absurd to ask "Then where will _you_ sleep?" but he couldn't help it — it just came out.

Blackheart didn't reply. He didn't need to. Blaze was already standing up and following him to his room.

The door shut quietly behind them. The curtains were drawn back on the window across the room, allowing the blue-silver light of the moon to spill across the floor in jagged rectangles. There was a bed against the far wall, its covers thrown back and inviting. The room was plain, stark, empty save for a dresser and a narrow desk. A painting hung on the wall above the bed, but Johnny couldn't make it out.

He was about to open his mouth to say something when he suddenly felt a presence in front of him. Blackheart stood before him, a scant inch or two shorter, only the edges of his slim body outlined by the moonlight — everything else was consumed by shadow.

Johnny watched with languid interest as Blackheart slowly raised his arms, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. His hair was a disheveled halo illuminated by the moonlight. Blaze leaned close, breathing deep the sweet scent of ozone and the lingering spice of garlic and tomatoes. He sighed helplessly, giving in, pressing his face into the crook of Blackheart's neck and bringing up his arms to caress the angel's smooth shoulders.

"You feel so good," Johnny whispered, brushing his lips against the warm ear and silk-soft locks of raven hair. "I almost forgot how good you feel."

"I can feel better," Blackheart replied, his voice low and husky. He tugged Johnny back toward the bed.

Johnny parted his lips to protest — they shouldn't do this, it would only open old scars, he wasn't here to stay, it would only hurt them both and make parting more painful — but Blackheart stole his breath with a hungry, desperate kiss. And Johnny had no choice but to return it just as desperately, wrapping his arm around the angel's slim form and holding him so tightly that it hurt.

The desire that had been burning deep in the furnace of his soul all evening now billowed up in a fiery blast of unimaginable emotion, a nuclear holocaust of searing, white-hot love, unable to be restrained or extinguished.

Johnny paused, broke the kiss, fumbled madly to remove his pants. Blackheart dropped down onto the bed and hastily slipped off the rest of his clothes in the darkness. He barely had time to finish before Johnny was suddenly there, climbing onto the bed, pushing Blackheart down, kissing any part of him that his lips could find.

The angel allowed himself sink into the pillows, welcoming the man into his arms. He closed his eyes, becoming blind, and arched into the wet, burning mouth that was leaving a trail of saliva down his collarbone, down his chest, his belly, his hip . . .

Blackheart opened his mouth wide and gasped wordlessly, his hands finding Johnny's hair and clutching it tightly. It felt like the first time, like in Rome, only a thousand times more powerful. It was an unrequited passion that had been simmering for years, a ravenous hunger for flesh at last being satisfied.

Blackheart panted, his cheeks coloring hotly, and moaned when Johnny grasped his thigh and kissed it, kneading the firm flesh with his fingers. "I want," he murmured thickly, "every inch of you. It's been so long. So long . . ."

The angel bit his lip to keep from speaking. He would have said that he already belonged to Johnny, that he needed the man even more than he wanted him, that he would have done anything to keep him here tonight. Though the words never made it past his lips, a strained whimper rose in his throat, begging and pleading for more.

Johnny answered by crawling up and taking Blackheart's flushed red face in his hands, pressing kiss after kiss to his brow, lips, cheeks, whispering to him the three words that couldn't be said enough. Blackheart bent his knees, letting Johnny's warm body settle between his legs. He felt the man's need against his thigh, felt his own pressed against Blaze's stomach, and smiled up at him in the darkness, his face half-shadowed. Johnny smiled back, dipped his fingers into his mouth, and lowered his hand.

The angel hissed briefly at the fleeting pain, but forgot about it when Johnny pressed a kiss to his lips, his tongue dipping deep into the sweet well of Blackheart's mouth. By the time they parted he was ready, and Blaze sat back on his legs, taking one last look at the young man spread out beneath him, more beautiful than even God's mercy.

He pushed inside, gently at first, then harder when Blackheart urged him on. He slid deeper, lowering himself slowly. The angel beneath Johnny groaned and sank his teeth into his shoulder, and with the first thrust they both lost their minds.

Gentle whispers and tender kisses were gone, replaced by an almost violent and destructive passion. In their frenzied desire they clawed at skin, pulled hair, bit flesh, bruised each other with their hands. Johnny rolled, putting Blackheart on top, and let him enjoy the ride. The angel moaned louder than he intended and put his wrist between his teeth to stifle his cries of ecstasy. He lurched and rocked with Johnny's rhythmic movements, his eyelids fluttering in delirium. And then, not of his own free will, a pair of black wings emerged from his back, stretching up and out until they nearly spanned the room, barely visible in the darkness.

"Christ," Johnny panted, watching the wings unfold. He'd almost forgotten he was making love to a celestial creature. An angel. _His_ angel. The thought sent a thrilling wave through his body, and he let Blackheart feel it as well, beginning his motions again with increased vigor.

It wasn't much longer — almost too soon, it seemed — before Blackheart clutched Blaze's shoulders and arched his back. He shut his eyes tight and screamed with wordless abandon, years of suffering at last being reckoned with this sweet moment of release. Johnny grasped his narrow hips and held him as he bucked, fought and struggled — held him as he too neared the edge and plunged over it with a muted roar.

There was no use denying it any longer. _This_ was what he craved. _This_ was what he needed. _Here_ was where he needed to be. With his angel.

Blackheart gave a final shudder and folded his ruffled wings closed; they disappeared once more, leaving only a few stray feathers to settle to the floor. He collapsed onto the bed beside Johnny almost gracefully, breathing hard, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his face. Johnny rolled onto his side and fumbled for his hand in the dark. Finding it at last, he threaded his rough fingers with Blackheart's smooth ones.

"I love you," he whispered, seeing nothing but shadows. He was surprised when he felt fingertips brush against his cheek — Blackheart caressing Johnny's sun-weathered face as if he were painting a picture only he could see.

"I love you, too, Johnny," came the answering murmur, close enough that Blaze could feel the warmth of Blackheart's breath. "That's why I need you."

"I know . . ."

"So stay with me."

"I will. Someday."

There was a pause. "You can't live in fear, Johnny."

"I know. And someday . . . when Milly is grown up and knows who she is, I'll come back for you." He slid toward the heat beside him, his blind hand finding a shoulder, a neck. "We can leave this place together, ride out into the desert and never look back. No more pretending. No more hiding. The Spirit of Vengeance and the Angel of Retribution . . . or whatever we want to be, if we want to be anything at all-"

"I don't think I can wait that long, Johnny. All those years . . ."

"They'll go quick. We're immortals. Time means nothing to us."

". . . but I still feel it."

Johnny went quiet, knowing in his heart of hearts that Blackheart was right. Time, unstoppable and eternal, still passed, and even though its power no longer touched him, he was aware of every second that ticked away in Blackheart's absence. Minutes seemed like hours, and days passed with the weight of years. And years . . . They ceased to matter, the same way that a millennia mattered to a butterfly. Time so broad and unfathomable that it was useless to a creature whose existence spanned only a few days.

Johnny felt Blackheart's arm slide across his chest as he nestled close and rested his head against Blaze's shoulder. In this position they remained, thinking and wondering about the future in a place empty of time, until at last sleep dulled their minds and only dreams remained. Dreams of an open road and a cool wind rushing by, a bright sun in the blue sky above, and nothing between here and there but a million miles of memories, waiting to be made.


End file.
